A Light of New Acquaintance
by Drazzles
Summary: This is basically a gap filler inner from the end of the movie, just before the dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. No new major characters. No self inserts. No romance. If you liked the movie, then I really hope that means you'll like this. Ongoing. . .
1. The Move

Chapter 1

**The Move**

* * *

Charlie Bucket, a poor little boy who not long ago ate cabbage soup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and Willy Wonka, the worlds most famous chocolatier, stood silently in a glass elevator flying over mass amounts of snow. Neither was talking, for neither had anything they could say. Not aloud at least. Long story short, it had been a most interesting weekend.

Just eight days ago, after a small tour of the whole, Charlie Bucket had received an extraordinary offer from Mr. Wonka to take over his amazing Chocolate Factory, a dream long fantasized by little Charlie. And had declined. Why? Long story short, there had been a minor disagreement in the arrangement. But Charlie had been fine after the unfortunate incident, fantastic in fact, and his poor family's luck began to brighten, though things had been rather different for Willy Wonka's.

Moments ago, Charlie Bucket and Willy Wonka had gone to see the chocolatier's father, causing an awful lot of tension, heartache, and rubbery squeaks. Long story short, Willy and his father had never been very close (speaking quite literally). But after an awkward, yet sincere embrace, the two had talked with each other, and caught up on each other's lives, and sensitively discussed each other's occupations (you'd be surprised to hear that sometimes the apple really does fall _very_ far from the tree). But Dr. Wonka and Willy Wonka, though very different, still loved each other more than one would ever imagine, and as they said their goodbye's and went back to their own lives, were just happy they'd had this moment to make some sense of peace.

That may have been a few minutes ago, but everything was silent now, while the two occupants of the strange vehicle stood awaiting their re-arrival to town. Charlie every once in a while would look over at Wonka and notice what might have been a hidden smile. Charlie looked back down through the clear floor at the plain white world rushing by. Dr. Wonka lived rather far away from society, you see, and it had taken them a good half hour to get to his house. So Charlie stood waiting patiently and silently for his arrival in town to get back to his solo shoe-shining business.

Just then Wonka released a long sigh, and Charlie glanced back up at him. He seemed so. . . relieved. A heavy weight must have been lifted off of Willy's shoulders that day. One would be, Charlie thought, after meeting with someone you hadn't seen in perhaps over fifteen years. Let alone your own father. Willy Wonka had never told Charlie this exactly, but Charlie was a very clever kid, and after hearing many of his grandfather's stories, knew that Wonka had been forced away from all social life 10 years ago after spies invaded his factory. He had only been around the oompa loompas since then (long story short, Mr. Wonka has lots of maps that mark lots of places people don't seem to find necessary to teach us about in geography class anymore).

But Charlie also knew that Wonka was a rather. . . unique character, so he didn't ask anything about it directly. In fact, Wonka had been the one to bring up his father. Charlie glanced back up at Wonka, who was gazing thoughtfully out the window. Charlie then looked back down and smiled inwardly. Maybe he wasn't such a bad character after all.

Willy Wonka looked down at Charlie, then quickly back up again, his peaceful demeanor vanishing as he remembered something. He knit his brow and looked down sharply, thinking of how to say this, opening and closing his mouth numerous times while trying to do so. Turning his head slightly toward Charlie, but keeping his gaze firmly on the ground, Wonka finally stuttered out a sentence.

". . .S-so. . . um. . . so, Charlie," he pressed on a phony little smile, ". . . H-have any reconsideration of my offer. . . by any chance?" He really was dreading the possible answer, hoping he would never have to feel that horrible sensation of rejection, not to mention utter confusion, again.

Charlie looked up at him, but Wonka's gaze was sealed to the floor. Charlie paused for a moment, amazed yet overjoyed the offer still stood, then smiled.

"On one condition, Mr. Wonka." Wonka finally turned his head to face the boy, eyeing his serious expression curiously. Charlie swallowed, hoping his new impression of Willy Wonka was right.

"My family. . . gets to come."

Wonka hesitated, pursed his lips, then took in a breath and turned around, looking out his side of the elevator. He stood there for moments in thought. Charlie waited patiently, his dark brown eyes resting on the chocolatier's back. Wonka gazed into space, and for a moment Charlie wondered if he was experiencing another, what the man had said to be, 'flashback' on the tour, but then he spoke. He let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing in a sense of defeat.

"'Kay. . ." he began, then violently tore his gaze away from the window and turned back to Charlie, his eyes wide with importance. "On one condition," he recited. Charlie looked up at him expectantly. Wonka held up a finger, pausing, then stated, "_You're_ to run the factory. Not them. They can. . . can give you advice, and . . . and help," he nodded, "and they can. . . talk to you about it, and help you with it, and give you ideas. . . b-but they _can't_ tell you what to do."

He looked at Charlie with almost a sense of desperation. "They can't tell you what to make or what not to make, or. . . or when or where to send things out for shipment or any of that stuff. They can't tell you how to run the factory or tell you what's best for it or make you do what they think is best for it. They can't make you do any of that stuff. They can't _make_ you do anything."

Willy Wonka stopped, shutting his mouth to prevent any further rambling. He looked meaningfully, but not at all strictly, at Charlie wide eyed, hoping he'd understand these rules. He wanted _Charlie_ as his heir, not the whole family. All families would do was try and control everything, which is why he had originally wanted Charlie, and _only_ Charlie, to move into the factory. But that, he could see now, was not an option. It was either the whole family move in or nothing at all. This little boy drove a hard bargain. But he was, Wonka felt now - no, _knew _now, the only one he could have taking over his factory. So he'd have to take this chance, however horrifying it was to him. He just simply couldn't loose such a child. Not again.

And now this child stared up at the chocolatier, scanning his dark violet eyes for anything that was less than sincere at the moment. Wonka usually wore his sunglasses when he was outdoors, but he seemed to have forgotten them after leaving from their visit, and Charlie was glad for this because he wanted to get a close look at the man. Charlie needed to be sure this person was truly all he'd thought him to be, before the boy put his trust in him again entirely. Wonka had really let him down before, though he may not have realized it, and Charlie didn't want that to happen again. However, Wonka's eyes were deep and hopeful, like a child waiting to be told a secret.

_Yes_, thought Charlie, as a big smile grew across his face, _he's good_. Then he bluntly stuck his hand out to Willy, who looked at it, then back at him. Charlie let his hand wait there, meeting eye to eye with the man across from him, a happy smile on his cheeks.

Wonka looked slowly back up to Charlie, then graduallyspread out the biggest and most overjoyed smile you'll ever see in your life. He took Charlie's hand with a marvelous squeak.

"Deal."

* * *

"Mum! Dad!" Charlie burst through the doors of the Bucket's rickety cottage, nearly breaking it off its hinges as he did. Three old people who were sitting all in one bed,waiting patiently for tonight's supper of beef vegetable stew and bread, which they could now happily have in addition to cabbage thanks to Mr. Bucket's job promotion, looked up. Grandpa Joe, who had excitedly rid himself of lying in bed as of last week, was sitting at the kitchen table waiting. Mr. Bucket himself relaxed in a spring-less armchair in the corner reading what must have been a very good book, for he went straight back to reading it right after Charlie entered the house, and allowed his wife to do any talking that needed to be done.

"Charlie Bucket!" his mother declared, turning away from the kitchen counter where she had been in the midst of cabbage chopping, and wagging a rather large knife dangerously in the air. "Where have you been, young man? Last we saw of you was this afternoon when you went into town. We've been worried out of our minds! -nearly alerted the police!"

"Like they'd do anything about it," grumbled Grandpa George in his natural grumpy manner. Mrs. Bucket gave him a sideways look one might give to a child who shouldn't be so sarcastic in their tone, then turned back to her cabbage, waiting for her son's response.

"Sorry mum," Charlie panted excitedly. His cheeks were flushed from what you might expect to be a result of running in the cold, but were only part of the reason in his case. "I. . . bumped into a friend," he stated, catching his breath, and trying not to let too much of a smile creep out. He wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.

"Oh really?" Mrs. Bucket replied cheerfully, brushing her hands off on her apron then putting them to her hips in a motherly manner. Charlie didn't have many friends; actually, none at all. Not because he was naughty or mean or anything other than a pleasant young man. He was in fact, in all seriousness, a kind of angel. Having lived so many years in poverty, he'd learned to be humble and thoughtful and grateful for everything there was. No, it wasn't him, it was just that _because_ he was so poor, not only did most children look down at him, but he never had the time, or perhaps the energy, to make friends. Besides, he had his family; he didn't need those other kids to keep him happy. Nonetheless, his mother was always delighted to hear when he did make a friend or two, even if it was simply someone sharing a bit of their lunch with him at school, which until a while ago had been desperately helpful.

"I've not met any of your friends, Charlie, who's that?" she said interestedly. His father looked up from his book with a kind smile, as did two other of the grandparents. Not Grandpa George though, who only showed signs of interest by looking towards Charlie expectantly, and not Grandma Georgina; she was always smiling, despite what the situation may be.

Charlie looked at his family, then opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden THUNK! against one of the house's walls from outside, rattling the dishes. Mrs. Bucket looked around, then turned to her husband curiously.

"Dear, what was that?" Mr. Bucket shrugged and started to speak when-

THUNK, _THUNK- THUNK!_

This shook the Bucket's home much more violently, like a melting gingerbread house that was finally giving way, and Mrs. Bucket gripped hold of the table to steady it, as did Mr. Bucket with the things around him.

"The chimney seems to be a bit clogged up," chirped Grandma Georgina with a happy smile on her lips, looking up at nothing in particular.

Then everything was still for a moment. Mrs. Bucket saw her husband glancing behind her with a perplexed expression, and turned around to see Charlie looking up excitedly at the roof, a big smile across his face.

Then the house gave another suggestive groan. The dishes began to shake more than ever as a deep shudder filled the floor. Mrs. Bucket held onto the table, this time so she could keep her stance through the house's steadily growing vibration, and turned to her son, wide eyed.

"Ch-a-aR-r-l-l-IEE. . .?"

Charlie staggered back and forth a bit, turning his excited eyes away from the roof and back down to her, then emitted a very guilty sounding giggle.

* * *

Wonka tapped his cane against the glass floor a couple times. He reached forward with his finger, then pulled it back almost immediately like he'd touched something hot, and placed his hand back on the cane, diligently going back to his tapping. He had to do it. It wasn't like he could change his mind now; he was a bit too far down the road for that. Besides, why would he want to? He didn't, that's what. This was what he wanted. Needed, more over. He let out a breath, trying to calm his nerves. He just needed to get himself together for the moment.

Willy Wonka had just brought Charlie back to his house to let him tell his family the good news, and that they'd be moving soon. He'd then gone upabove their crooked little house to help them with that move. But now he was beginning to have second thoughts. He knew they were preposterous. He knew his second thoughts would never alter his actions; he wouldn't allow it. Charlie was going to be his heir and his family was coming with him.

_But what if they don't like it?_

"Phbsshh," he scoffed aloud, hoping his real words would overcome his mental ones. "Of course they will, who wouldn't?"

_But what if they don't like _you . . .?

"I-" he stopped. He hadn't thought of this . . . Could he deal with people living the factory who didn't like it, didn't like . . . _him_? Well, it was simply impossible for them not to like his factory, let alone his candy. _Everybody_ loved Wonka's candy, it was the best in the world! But. . .

He looked down at the house thoughtfully. _It_ _doesn't matter. They won't be seeing much of me anyway. I'll come to pick up Charlie, then drop him back off at the end of the day. Anyway, I don't need to worry about what they think._ He scoffed aloud again. This seemed to help the worry to find its way out.

He took in another breath. "And even so," he began into the air, releasing the nervous breath, "They really are a polite bunch, they won't say anything anyway. A lot like Charlie himself. . . must be where he learned it from. . ." His brow furrowed, gaze still locked to the house below. He stood there for a while, hesitant.

_Doesn't matter_. . . he scolded himself mentally one last time as he reached forward and punched one of the elevator's many buttons. The elevator quivered, then slowly, slowly, hovered down right above the little house. Then from the top, the metal arms that usually held the lift to its cable uncurled like a spider. They craned down silently, stretching past the lift's glass sides, hesitated, then in a sudden jerking motion, one by one clamped onto the cottage's sides with four separated THUNKS! The elevator quivered again, and Mr. Wonka tapped the rim of his hat.

"Well. . . as the Romans say. . ." he sighed as he pushed the button again, " 'Alea iacta est'." _The die's been tossed._ The elevator trembled violently, and Mr. Wonka pressed against two sides of the elevator for support, as the metal claws brutally, yet still somehow gently enough not to cause any damage, wrenched the little house out of the ground below, lifting it into the air, and leaving asmall blankgap where the structure had been. Mr. Wonka quickly looked away, and punched another button, sending the elevator and the building hanging directly below it up and through the air.

_No need to be reminded of things. _

* * *

"Ch-arl-lieee!" demanded Mrs. Bucket, as the whole house rocked back and forth, "What-t the d-d-devil is going o-n, y-young ma-an! Ww-why do I have a f-f-eeling you've go-ot sommmeth-thing to do with th-this-ss?"

She sounded much more terrified than stern at the moment. Suddenly the house swerved to the left, and everything slowly slid towards the opposite wall, including the four old peoples' beds, where Grandma Georgina was singing sailing song and asking when we would reach land. Then the house rocked back in the other direction, causing a few pictures to fall off the wall, and everything in the house slid back to their original place.

"ooOOOhph!" Mrs. Bucket stumbled backward, and was caught by her husband, who was holding on tightly to the edge of the coat closet doorway. The beds and the four people in them continued to slide around aimlessly, Grandpa George swearing complaints, Grandma Georgina still singing, Grandpa Josephine frantically asking questions, and Grandpa Joe, who had jumped up onto the bed when the house had begun rattling to calm his wife, patting her hand.

"Whe-ere are w-we going! What's-s-s happ-p-pening-ng!" she demanded, while Joe patted her hand.

"_S-s-aailing, s-s-aailing, o'er-r the br-rin-ny s-sea. . ."_

Grandpa George was pounding on the mattress with his fists, "I'm too old-d for this b-blas-sted nonsenss-se! W-when I find who-o-o's bloody-y responsibllle, _I'll shov-ve an umb-brella right up-p thei-r a-" _

"POPS-SS!"

Charlie grabbed onto a sofa that had slid down towards him as the house rocked sharply one way. "Mum! L-let me exp-plllain!" he giggled.

"Y-you'd bet-t-ter!" cried Mrs. Bucket, trying to hold as many things down as she could, her husband still clutching onto her waist with one arm, anchored to the closet door by another. A few cabbage heads tumbled off the counter and onto the floor.

The house rocked back. Charlie jumped onto the sofa so he wouldn't be run over as it slid down and landed against the wall with a thump. He scooted to one side, still grinning widely. "I was in t-town shining shoes-ss, lik-ke I s-said, and r-ran into him-mm!" The house swerved, and Charlie and his couch slid down past the grandparents' bed, to the other end of the house.

"_Dri-i-ink u-pp, me-e har-rties-s, y-yyo ho-o-o. . ."_

* * *

Wonka was waiting patiently for the elevator to make its way to his factory, the little Bucket house hooked onto the bottom of it.

_Perhaps this had all just been a terrible idea,_ he thought miserably, _Maybe I should have never sent out those golden tickets. _His let his shoulders sag. _I could have stayed in the factory for a few more years- more in fact, possibly tens of more years. . . I would have managed. . . yeah. . . I'm not _that_ old. . . It was just . . . just one gray hair, after all. . . _He looked down through the floor at the house rocking below. His head tilted to the right. It really must have been a funny sight to see; a glass box with a broken down little house hanging from it, flying through the sky. He smiled a little in spite of himself. Nothing _too_ out of the ordinary.

Wonka sighed and leaned back against the glass as the lift soared over the factory's colossal chimneys. He glanced vaguely at the smoke that misted its way out, and found himself wondering why he'd gone out to town at all today; it wasn't exactly something he usually did. He knew he'd felt awful that whole morning. Terrible ever since. . . Wonka wilted a little, still leaning against the side of the lift, and his heart sank as he remembered.

Never would he forget that feeling when Charlie told him he wouldn't come to the factory. Never. It was quite a shock for Willy Wonka because, in fact, Willy Wonka was never shocked. Everything always happened exactly how he planned, or at the very least to his advantage. So a shock for one who's never shocked _would_ be quite a shock indeed. And he hoped he'd never feel it again. Not only had it shaken him up quite a bit at the moment, but for the rest of that week! He couldn't sleep, or eat; he even went to his therapist to see if he could figure out why things were becoming so unraveled. But even after figuring out his candy was going down the drain, he had felt he wasn't getting the whole picture.

Trying to think, he set a finger on his lips, resting his elbow on his other arm. He just couldn't put his finger on it. He'd woken up this morning with that sensation, and had sat in his study half the day, jotting down notes for things he intended to check into, before finally getting up and going out. Which Willy Wonka never ever did. But he'd been desperate to get some fresh air, because the air in his study had been filled with unpleasant thoughts, so had put on his coat, goggles, and made his way out to town. . .

_When he got there he was actually a bit surprised to see there were lots of people crowding around the shops and newspaper stands. Timidly, he made his way around any human contact, and quickly snatched a paper to see what all the hubbub was about. He hastily scurried off to a more deserted section of the square, checking to see no one had recognized him (not that they would, most had never seen him to begin with) and opened the paper. His heart sank when he read the headline, bold and plain as ever, through his dark round glasses; _

**WONKA'S CANDY; NOT SO DANDY?**

Clever slogan, bozo_, he thought sarcastically to whoever the writer of the article was, as he staggered back, vaguely sitting on a bench. He was about to read when he fairly recognized a voice. He carefully bent down a corner of the paper, peeking out from behind it. On the corner of the crowd he saw a rather scrawny small boy holding a shoe shining cloth, thanking a gentleman who handed him a coin, and pocketing it. Wonka's heart jumped out of his chest and he immediately hid back behind the paper. Why he did what he did next? He didn't know. But a few moments later he heard himself mask his voice. _

"_Eherm. . . you, l-lad!" He saw Charlie Bucket turn around at the call, and beckoned him with his finger, pulling out a coin from his pocket, holding it out to the lad, and pointed to his shoes. He looked out the side of the paper to see Charlie stare at him for a moment, then flicker what may have been a look of mild anger, but it was gone just as fast and Charlie took the coin, taking out his cloth and getting to work on Wonka's shoes. Wonka acted like he was reading the paper, his voice still much lower. _

"_Pity about that chocolate fellow. Wendell . . . er, Walter."_

"_Willy Wonka," Charlie assisted, not taking his eyes off of his shoe shining._

"_That's the one," Wonka corrected himself, "Says here in the papers his new candies aren't selling very well. . ." Wonka waited for Charlie to say something. But the child was silent. So he continued. "But I suppose he's just a rotten egg who deserves it." _

"_Yep." Charlie stated._

_Wonka frowned a little, but didn't move the paper. "Oh really?" He said with a smooth transition and a hint of annoyance, then hesitated. ". . . Ya ever met him?"_

_Charlie stopped shining, and sat up, "I did. I thought he was great at first, but then he didn't turn out so nice. . ." Wonka listened curiously. What did he do? All he ever did was offer him the chance of a lifetime! It wasn't his fault Charlie liked his gosh darned family so much. . ._

_Charlie blinked and went back to his shining. "He also has a funny haircut."_

_Wonka's eyes grew wide as he slammed down the newspaper. Now that was too much, little boy. "I do _not_!" He objected childishly._

_Charlie didn't show a hint of surprise at who the person really was. In fact, he looked as if he'd known it all along. _Am I really that obvious?_ Wonka wondered. _

"_Why are you here?" the boy asked him._

"That's why," Wonka said aloud, coming out of his mind. The realization had hit him; he'd still had hopes about Charlie. It wasn't easy for him to just give up. Just like that. He still had hoped he could change Charlie's mind. And even though he'd had doubts he could change the little boy's mind, he kind of liked Charlie. He wasn't sure why. But it'd hurt when he wouldn't come, and he didn't want to rid him of his life forever, so quickly.

"_Thaaat_'s why," Wonka repeated, rolling his eyes, then stumbling back a little as the elevator crashed through the factory roof and into the Chocolate Room. It was obvious now. And he'd gotten what he wanted. But he hadn't changed Charlie's mind. So the whole Bucket family was coming.

"It could be worse," he said as the elevator gently landed the house on a nice patch of green swudge grass. "I could not have him at all." Which was what he would have if he'd never sent out the golden tickets. This new sense of logic made him feel better, but didn't necessarily calm his nerves over what he was about to face; welcoming a whole family into his factory. With another push of a button, the elevator flew back up through the roof, into its initial pre-made hole, and down its original shaft. Wonka took a breath, straightened his hat, gripped his cane, and stepped out into the colourful room as the lift doors slid open. He stood in front of the elevator, facing the front of the little cottage, waiting for something to happen. _This is it._

* * *

The sofa skidded to the other wall, and Charlie did his best to keep telling his story. "-and we w-went and saw his f-father, and h-he had p-pictures all-ll ovvver-r the w-w-wall, mu-m! Aan-nd. . ." The sofa slid back to the other side of the house, and more pictures came tumbling off of their hooks. Charlie was sitting legs over one of the chair's arm, head over the other. "-Ev-veryth-thing went g-great! Then we wwwere c-coming bac-ck, and h-he asked m-me again, and s-said you c-could come! Sso-" The sofa and Charlie slid back to the middle of the cottage, Charlie's head now in the seat of the sofa, his legs dangling off the back. "-he's ggonna movve us r-right in the c-center of this a-mmmazing roo-oom, mum! W-wait tiiill y-you s-seee it!"

"B-but Ch-charlie," his mother cried, now desperate to have some sense of control in her house, let alone any sense of her son's story, "-y-you still hav-ven't tollld us w-who 'he' iss! _W-who are yyou talllking abbout, Charlie?"_

Then suddenly, the house jerked around in a full circle, and landed with a

_SH_**BBBOOOM! **

Everything was still. A few papers from Mr. Bucket's desk fluttered to the ground. Grandpa George had stopped swearing, Grandma Josephine had stopped ranting, even Grandma Georgina had stopped singing and was looking around curiously. Suddenly she leaned in close, her eyes wide, then whispered.

"_Have we docked?"_

In fact, the rest of the family was wondering the same thing. Mr. Bucket loosened his protective grip on his wife, and simply held onto the sides of her arms from behind. Mrs. Bucket looked like a deer that had heard a gunshot. The family carefully glanced around their house: everything was actually pretty much in order. The furniture had slid back to its original positions, Mrs. Bucket had achieved holding down most of the things on the tables and counters, including their supper on the stove, and besides the few frames the had fallen off the walls, there were only a couple scattered papers on the ground, along with some cabbage.

Charlie crawled off the sofa and got onto his feet. He hadn't stopped smiling through all the chaos, and wasn't about to stop now. No, now the real surprise began. He stood and carefully crept towards the backdoor. His mother and father simultaneously stepped forward a bit so they could see, but stayed far behind their son. Charlie watched their expressions, then slowly opened the door. Light shown through the open doorway and into the dark little cottage, blinding the occupants inside. They all put their hands to their foreheads to shield their eyes from the sudden gleam, and the world in sight made their jaws drop; even Grandma Georgina; even Grandpa George.

They gazed out the doorway, out to fields of luscious green. Covering the valley were shapes, and just the most peculiar plants you'd ever seen in your life.

There were giant red and white spotted mushrooms, and swirly curly purple twists coming from the ground.

The entire meadow was made of hills, curving up and down restlessly, as if created by a toddler given a marker. There were what you _might _call trees, in amazing sizes and shapes.

Colours you never dreamt you'd see while you were living filled their entire field of vision, seeming to almost glimmer in its essence.

Off somewhere, the sound of rushing water was heard. . . could it be. . . a _waterfall_ possibly? There did seem to be some sort of scoop ahead where a river would shore. . .

And as soon as the door had been opened, the sweetest smell the Buckets had ever encountered was swept into the house, dawning on each of the family members with a warm tingle.

No one spoke, except for perhaps the small whimper of Grandma Georgina in back, who looked suddenly downright distressed as she asked, "Am I in Heaven? When did I die?" Charlie's parents had now moved to the door, standing cautiously behind their son, and his grandparents in bed, including Grandpa Joe who was still holding his wife's hand to keep her comforted, had leaned so they could see out the door as well. Everyone but Charlie, who wasn't looking at the room at all, but had his gaze upon something- _someone_ else, were simply watching everything in front of them in awe. Mrs. Bucket kept her eyes on the room but spoke in a hushed tone to her son. "Charlie. . . _who_. . .?"

Charlie glanced at his mother, then gently nodded out the door. The rest of his family's attention was suddenly drawn to something they hadn't noticed before. A man in a top hat and black outer coat, standing halfway across the room, wringing his rubber gloved hands nervously around the top of his candy coloured cane, and staring wide eyed at the people inside the cottage.

Charlie smiled. "Mr. Wonka."

* * *

**Author's notes:** :looks around expectantly: oH! That's me! _Rrright!_ (Oh how exciting, I'm the _author!)_ Kay, my second fan fiction (first was "Another Day at Work"), and don't worry, if you actually care, there's more to come. I'm not the start-something-then-drop-it-like-it's-dead kind of person. Especially not with a story. No, I get waaaay too into it for that, and I have big plans for this one already. In fact, I'm actually working on the third chapter as of now. Just putting up the first to let everything sink in. By the way, I did take a long time with this chapter taking special care not to loose the sense of the characters. I really had to go back to trailers and clips frequently, just so I could ask myself, "Kay, so is this something he'd say, or should I make her say this. . ." I really hope I did alright with that, and if I didn't, I hope you'll tell me (I won't be all upset or anything silly :eye roll:) so I can try a new approach.

"Alea iacta est": Oh, _aren't you all simply thrilled to learn something new about ancient Roman history?_ This just means, like it says up there, "_The die's been tossed." _or "no turning back now". It's something extra I learned in school. It reminded me of the saying, "When in Rome," plus I thought it kinda fit with Wonka's out of the ordinary attitude, that he'd know something like that. (Not to mention it felt kind of good to show off my _amazing_ intellect)

"Drink up me harties, you ho. . .": Grandma Georgina's line? Well, sounds like a Grandma Georgina to me, but I'll admit there's usually a second hidden meaning behind everything I do. Yes, yes. . . anyone here know the days until _Pirates_ two? Yes? No? _I do._

Oh, and as for "flames"? Yah, I could tell you all not to, and that I won't like it, and that you shouldn't do it, but there's really no point as you guys can do whatever you want. (I'm. . . assuming flames are not-very-nice reviews, right? I had to use context clues for that one blush) So, if you're in the mood for a flame, I won't stop ya: lay it on me. Get it out of your system so you don't fire up some other unsuspecting writer and hurt their feelings. Please do.

THANKS YOU TO ALL THE REVIEWERS OF MY FIRST STORY! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST, MENTIONED IN MY PROFILE! I tip my hat to all of you. tip tip tip


	2. The Dinner

TO ALL MY LOVELY LOVELY REVIEWERS!

**Laseri:** cowers in fear The "long story short" thing was deliberate, don't worry. I reread things a lot, so I'd have caught that one since, as you said, it was in there 5 times. lol But I thought of it like the story "Quite Frankly" by The Island Hopper? She says the phrase in the beginning and end of the story, and I thought it brought the things together really nicely. (yay, Island Hopper!) "Long story short" felt like a good way to make the intro simply explain what had happened before you come in. We all know, obviously, but it prevented me having to say bluntly the whole middle of the movie. Just a little phrase I thought fit. But I'm glad you like the scene with the house going to the factory. I always kinda had that idea of how they moved it there, and it reminded me of if just the top part of a crane could fly (I think about things a lot).

**fxkoala:** I imagined Wonka would be, even after the reunion with his papa, really shaky about bringing Charlie's family into the factory, especially since once he does, he can never get out of it. I know I'd be scared out of my mind if I were in his position.

**Snappy Dresser:** does Wonka's Swanky hand dance Thanks! I'ma writing as we speak! (p.s. How snappy a dresser are you exactly? Hm? _Hm?_)

**Black Fire:** Thanks bunches and bunches! It was so much fun to write _ev-ver-r-rything-ng l-like th-this-s-s_. . . giggle And I'm glad it gave out that impression, how Wonka was pretty oblivious to the feeling of missing someone like that. Because even though he missed his dad, that was so long ago and so carved into him, he didn't really realize he felt it. Not like with the feeling being newer and fresh with Charlie. As for the flashbacks, I didn't really mean for it to come off that way. I just wanted to simply explain where they were and why they were there without making up a whole conversation. I wanted to keep that more. . . private, I guess, between Dr. Wonka and Willy Wonka. So we don't know exactly what was said, just that everything is alright now.

Thanks for the reviews you guys! I am REALLY sorry it took me a whole week to get the second chapter up! My computer has been crashing all month, so we had to get a computer repair guy in here (His name was Jimmy and he was very nice) like every day for the past week. I've had the chapter, (so at least I had lots of time to revise) just couldn't get it on here. I'd curse my computer, but it'll get mad and stop working again. (he's sensitive, shh . . .)

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Chapter 2

**The Dinner **

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"Mr. Wonka?"

Wonka didn't budge. He just stood there, wide eyes locked on the family, whose eyes were locked back on him. He seemed not to hear Charlie.

"Mr. Wonka." Charlie repeated. Wonka finally blinked a few times then looked over at Charlie, as if he'd forgotten he was there too. Charlie just looked at him, and Wonka suddenly remembered himself, feeling he was expected to say something. He opened his mouth then shut it a couple times, eyes still wide.

"_Oh. . . dear,"_ he whispered under his breath, lips barely moving; he swallowed the dryness in his mouth. Releasing a breath and trying to compose himself, he smiled a big over exaggerated smile and started across the room. When he got to the other side, he worked his smile to say something, but immediately lost it.

He realized he had no idea what to do. And they were just staring at him. He tried another grin as he opened his mouth to speak, but found himself utterly lost for words, and it vanished again. Searching for something to say, and opening and closing his mouth like a fish in water, he gulped anxiously and wished he'd have planned what to say on the ride over. He mentally kicked himself for not doing so, and let out a quiet shaky breath.

Charlie watched as the chocolatier tried and failed more than too many times to say something. Finally, the boy spoke up and saved him.

"Mum, Dad, everyone, you remember Mr. Wonka?" he said, gesturing to the anxious looking man in front of them. At the sound of him name, Mr. Wonka looked towards Charlie, then back up again. He smiled nervously. Three occupants in the bed nodded.

Grandpa George was scarcely heard to mumble, ". . . _Forget the umbrella, that cane will do nicely_. . ."

". . . Mr. Wonka," began Mrs. Bucket, smiling kindly. "How very nice to see you . . . again." Manners first, as she always said. Mr. Bucket nodded behind his wife.

Wonka was still silent, looking as if he might faint any minute. Charlie realized he shouldn't have set the man up in such an awkward situation; especially without cue cards.

"Mr. Wonka . . . changed his mind. About us coming to the factory," He smiled, looking towards Wonka, praying he'd be able say something, "That we could all come."

Wonka glanced at Charlie, then abruptly back up, finally able to make a few comprehensible sounds come out of his mouth as some words formed in his head.

"yyYEAH! Eheh, I sure did!" He quietly cleared his throat. "I'm very happy to welcome you all to my factory! This is the Chocolate Room; this is where I've decided to put your house, so you can make yourself at home." He ended with a bright white grin, for this was how Willy Wonka usually ended an informative statement of such.

When no one replied for a moment, Wonka emitted a nervous giggle and looked down at the top of his cane to see if there was anything interesting on it. There wasn't. He looked back up and was relieved to see they were no longer staring at him, but looking around the newly introduced room.

"It's beautiful," Mrs. Bucket replied quietly, once again taking in the new settings in awe.

"It certainly is," Mr. Bucket agreed behind her.

Wonka didn't hear them. He was too busy in his head, frantically pasting together what he'd say next. He went on. "I- I trust you'll find it quite lovely, and if there's anything you need just give a holler," (at this point he put his hand next to his mouth, demonstrating a "holler") "and the Oompa Loompas'll help ya out." He nodded, still showing off his perfect smile. Everyone hesitated for a moment, not quite sure what to think.

". . . I beg your pardon sir, but what are Oompa Loompas?" Mrs. Bucket asked finally. She'd never quite figured that out from his last visit. And though Charlie had told her lots about the tour when he got home, he had said it all so quickly and it had gone by so fast, the rest were left with clipped details swimming through their heads such as, "blueberry" and "taffy-puller" and "squirrels" and "chocolate pipe" and possibly "Oompa Loompa". They'd all been rather dazed after a rather large flying object carrying her son and his grandfather, not to mention a very unusual extra passenger, had crashed through the roof of their home.

Mr. Wonka's smile quivered for an instant, but then he widened his eyes and grinned even harder. "Why they're the WORKERS!" No one spoke. He glanced sideways and down a little. "Yah . . ."

Charlie smiled. He turned to his family. "They're wonderful," he encouraged them cheerfully; "We met some of them on the tour." He saw Grandpa Joe nod to the other elders in bed.

"Ya!" Wonka giggled again nervously. "Well, I assure you you'll feel right at home here. I'd better be off to leave you to get settled. I'll . . . be back in the morning to pick up Charlie and show him the walk of the factory!" He tapped the rim of his hat politely, then spun on his heels and started to walk away.

"Oh wait, Mr. Wonka!" she called, finally finding the courage to leave her husband's arm and venture into the beautiful room. She held her skirt and carefully made her footing a little out the door to talk to him, for Mr. Wonka was a very fast walker when he needed to be.

He stopped, paused a moment, then reluctantly turned back around, still smiling rigidly.

Mrs. Bucket straightened her hair, which had gotten more than a bit messy during the move. She gestured toward the house. "Won't you stay for supper?" Wonka froze, his smile vanishing. _What?_

She gave a pleasant smile. Unlike Willy, whose stomach-butterflies had formed a riot and were now colliding against each other from within his ribcage, it was not forced at all, but genuinely kind. "It's already made," she insisted, "And there's plenty. We'd love for you to stay."

Wonka just stood there, and looked around anxiously. He'd given up smiling; moreover forgotten about it, being utterly perplexed at the moment . . ._ Wwhy does she want me to stay for dinner_?

Charlie beamed. "Please do, Mr. Wonka!" He turned to his dad. "I'll set the table for eight." Mr. Bucket ruffled his son's hair as the boy darted inside, then turned back to his wife.

"Shall I help our parents to the table, dear?" Mrs. Bucket smiled and nodded, turning around to go inside, but not before looking at Wonka and beckoning him in. Wonka did his fish gape again, wishing more words would make their way to his mouth. _Oh no oh no no no. . . shh-shoot. I can't even just_ leave now_. . . not now that they expect me to come in. . . _

He released a small whimper when everyone was in the house, wishing he _had_ had time to prepare cue cards for this occasion, and hesitantly made his way for the second time that week into the Bucket's little home.

Stepping in through the doorway a little ways behind Mrs. Bucket, he looked around. The house was dimly lit, giving it a nice homey feel (not that Mr. Wonka would know such a feeling, but he expected this was what it was like). It was also much . . . cleaner than he remembered. Not just cleaner, but they had some good enough furniture, carpeting in areas, and it was all together just improved. Charlie's father must have gotten a better job; he _must_ have on account of they were having company to dinner. At least Charlie wouldn't just be skin and bones and a ruffle of messy hair on top anymore. That was the first thing Wonka had planned on dealing with when Charlie moved into the factory. That kid needed nutrition, sustenance, _chocolate!_ Well, more or less.

After a moment, Wonka emitted a small gasp and quickly removed his hat, recalling it was polite to do so when you are a guest in someone's house. Mrs. Bucket took one last look at the beautiful Chocolate Room one last time, then closed the front door and turned around.

"Oh, may I take those?" she offered, referring to Wonka's things. He looked down at his effects, then hesitantly let her have his hat and cane. Mrs. Bucket put them up, then twirled back around and began to help the man out of his coats. He let out a little gasp of surprise, and quickly let her take them. Mrs. Bucket hung them up over each other next to his hat with care, then bustled off into the dining room.

Wonka rubbed his left arm subconsciously. He felt so misplaced here, especially without his belongings. No cane, no hat, no jacket. . . He shivered involuntarily and rubbed his arm again, realizing he was also rather cold. He'd become so acquainted with having on those extra layers so, even in his warm factory, chills ran down his back. But it was likely his shivering was also associated with his current situation. And to be where he was without his familiar sense of cover and protection so quickly and suddenly was . . . scary.

Another chill ran down his neck, and he squirmed to make it go away, then cautiously made his way into the dining room. Charlie, who was already sitting, turned around in his chair and smiled cheerfully. Wonka exhaled, grateful for a face he wasn't so intimidated by.

Mrs. Bucket (she seemed to be everywhere at once) swung around the table and pulled out a seat for him. He slowly lowered himself into his chair and pulled his shoulders up, like a little kid that's being scolded by their teacher.

The others were just now sitting down at the table as well; on one side, Grandma Georgina, Mrs. Bucket, Mr. Bucket, and Grandpa George, then on the other were Grandpa Joe, Mr. Wonka, Charlie, and Grandma Josephine.

As Mr. Wonka seated himself, Grandma Georgina, who'd been happily examining the design on her plate (and there was none), suddenly looked up at Mr. Wonka from down the table and frowned.

"Who're you?"

Wonka halted, and stared at the woman, who stared back seeming just as utterly confused as he. Mrs. Bucket helped her father into his chair then smiled at her mother.

"Mum, this is _Mister Wonka," _she stated clearly. Grandma Georgina didn't take her stare off of Wonka, and he glanced over, somewhat helplessly, to Mrs. Bucket. She gave him a reassuring wink, and then looked back to her mother, speaking a bit louder and clearer.

"He makes _chocolates." _Grandma Georgina turned her attention to her daughter, then looked back at Wonka, smiling like a child.

"I love chocolates!" she declared, putting an oddly placed emphasis on the word "chocolates", then lost focus and began to look around the room with great interest. Wonka looked at her with a funny expression. Mr. Bucket saw him and leaned across the table.

"She's a bit batty," he said with a smile, nodding towards Georgina, "But the dearest thing you'll ever meet." Upon this, Charlie's grandmother spun back around to face her son in law, smiling widely.

"Aow, you dear!" She patted Mr. Bucket's cheek, who smiled though he knew she hadn't the faintest clue what she was doing it in response to. Grandma Georgina then went back to looking around the room in marvel. Wonka stared for a moment, his head slightly tilted with fascination, then halfway grinned. _I think I'll like her. _

Suddenly he remembered what manners he needed. "Oh- . . . thank you, very much, by the way. . ." he said hastily, trying to address both Charlie's mother and father at the same time, so looking back and forth between the two as he said it. Mrs. Bucket chuckled and went to get the pot of stew.

"It's the least we can do, Mr. Wonka. After all, you're doing so much for us." She came back with an enormous pot that seemed to be even bigger than her, served him, along with the others at the table, then went back to cut the bread.

Mr. Wonka stared at his lap, trying to quickly figure out what she was talking about. _Done for them?_ _What have I done for them . . .?_ Wonka continued the enigma in his mind as Mrs. Bucket came back with the bread, setting it on the table, then taking off her oven mitts and seating herself across from him.

"I know Charlie here is thrilled to be your new . . . heir? Is that right?"

Wonka's eyes widened in realization. _That's _what she was talking about?

"Oh!" He let out a small laugh, "Madam, please, think nothing of it. . ." he giggled quietly as he set his napkin in his lap. _Duh . . ._ Mrs. Bucket poured some milk from a pitcher for herself, then set it back in the center of the table where everyone could reach it.

"Well of course we must think something of it!" she exclaimed. "It's not every day one has their house moved into the world's greatest chocolate factory! Let alone meet the world's greatest chocolatier, _let alone_ even have him for supper, but have their son chosen to be his successor!" she conveyed, nodding to her husband, who nodded back in agreement, "Now _that's_ something to be_ awfully_ grateful for."

Wonka's pallid cheeks took on a gentle shade of rose and he looked down into his soup, taking up a spoon full so he had something to do with his hands, even though he wasn't hungry. He wasn't usually this shy. What was he talking about? He wasn't _ever_ shy! Willy supposed it was the awkwardness of the whole situation that was getting to him. After all, when was the last time he'd eaten a meal with anyone but himself? Pbsshh, not in a _long_ time.

"Charlie's a wonderful lad," he said quietly, still letting his spoon hang over his bowl, "Can't see why anyone wouldn't want him."

Charlie smiled up at him happily. Mr. Wonka returned a small smile, but hastily looked back down into his meal, sipping his soup. He wished he didn't feel so _uncomfortable._

Charlie was eating up his meal now too, and spoke right before he popped a spoon into his mouth. "What are we doing tomorrow, Mr. Wonka?" Mrs. Bucket looked up brightly, breaking herself off a piece of bread, and then passing the basket around the table.

"Oh yes, what have you planned for our son tomorrow?" She leaned to her husband. "I'll make a note of calling Charlie's teacher; this is important," she nodded, then turned her attention back to the man across from her with an attentive smile.

Wonka paused. He hadn't thought of that. Picking Charlie up tomorrow morning had simply been something to fill in the empty space between their silence and his departure. This morning, he didn't even know he'd _have_ an heir. He thought he'd just be chewing on a Slicorice stick (if he ate anything at _all_ that night) while he worked on a machine or two in the Inventing Room that'd blown a fuse. Since then, tomorrow hadn't even crossed his mind; today had been enough to deal with.

"Well. . ." he began slowly, "I intend to show Charlie here," he nodded to Charlie, "around, first of all. . ." He vaguely took the bread basket that was passed to him, without even taking any, then unconsciously passed it to his right. "Take him around the machines; show him the rope of how they work. The process is fascinating, really," he noted with a smile, glancing to the left as he thought.

"I suppose I'll need ta show him the main corridor. . . a-and the rooms that lead into it. . ." he added happily. "I could also show him around the factory grounds, so he could get the swing of things, oh, but it's so big!" He spread out his hands excitedly, nearly knocking Charlie's bowl over; the boy grabbed it steady and giggled.

Wonka rested his chin in his hand, still glancing up in his own ideas. "I suppose there are lot's of things we could do," he said thoughtfully, more to himself than anyone at the table.

Mrs. Bucket smiled. "Sounds lovely," she said, stirring her soup to cool it off. Remembering they were all there, Wonka jumped a little. He took his elbow off the table and went back to spooning his meal.

"Yeah. . ." he giggled softly. Everyone at the table took a few moments of silence to eat.

"Well since we've gotten to the subject of the factory," Mr. Bucket began suddenly, "I believe we should set down some rules." His wife quickly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin then set it down on the table.

"Ah, rules! Quite right, dear."

Mr. Wonka felt his heart drop. _Oh no. . . . This is where it starts . . ._

"Rules . . .?" He repeated quietly.

"Yes, well to begin with, Charlie has school, as you know," (in which at this point Wonka nodded obediently) "So with the exception of tomorrow, it's to be homework first, then factory business," she continued, this time directing her instructions to Charlie. He nodded understandingly.

"Yes, mum." He popped another spoonful of food into his mouth.

Mr. Bucket spoke next. "Which also means Charlie's got to get his rest so is to be done and home by 7:30 pm on weekdays for supper-" Mrs. Bucket intercepted and smiled.

"Which you're_ always_ welcomed to, dear," she insisted to Wonka.

Mr. Wonka smiled mildly. He knew she didn't mean it, but it was polite to respond in one way or another. He sat there silent, waiting miserably for them to get on to the part where they told Charlie he couldn't play after homework, not to run around too much or he'd get his clothes all dirty, that he could only make so many candies a day before he had to come home and floss. . .

"Um, no skipping meals, no getting lost in the factory, no _bringing home things that might explode over night,_" she said counting her finger and bringing out a giggle from Charlie. "And. . . that's about it." She folded her hand and smiled. Wonka looked up, wide eyed.

". . . What?"

They all looked at him for a moment, not fully understanding. He glanced around, then looked up at her rather suspiciously. "That's . . . that's it?" Mrs. Bucket turned to her husband, who shrugged, then turned back to Mr. Wonka and nodded. Wonka looked back down, his eyes darting back and forth in a very confused manner. Suddenly he looked up and tilted his head to the side a bit.

". . . Really?"

Mrs. Bucket laughed. "Why yes, Mr. Wonka, what were you expecting?" Wonka threw his arms out in the air as if it were obvious.

"Policy? Authority? Regulation?" He shrugged deeply, like it was clear as day light. "You know!" he said, still wide eyed, "All that p-_bmbh_-"

He started a word but ended it as if there was a bumper car inside his mouth ramming against the sides. His lip quivered and he opened his mouth again, only to hopelessly bend his lips around and make the same sound. Everyone eyed him expectantly. Wonka sat stone still in his seat, seeming to attempt to say something but every time only being able to make that muffled gulping noise and glance down helplessly. Mrs. Bucket was about to say something when Wonka breathed in sharply.

". . .M-mmmom and dad. . . stuff. . ." He visibly gulped, but forced out an airy giggle.

Mrs. Bucket eyed him curiously, then cautiously replied, "Well, we don't intend to restrain Charlie like that, Mr. Wonka. He's free to do what he pleases here, so long as it's safe and doesn't interfere negatively with our lives. Or yours." Wonka stared across the table at her, dark eyes taking in what she had said, then nodded slowly and deeply.

"'Kay. . ." He looked back down and messed with a spoonful of stew. Everyone was silent, all looking at Mr. Wonka, who went on playing with his supper. Mr. Bucket finally broke the silence.

"Is. . . that alright?" Wonka dropped his spoon with a small clatter and looked up immediately.

"Oh, yah, of _course_!" He looked as if he'd never spoken any truer works in his life. "I want Charlie to have all the fun he possibly can here, _more_ at the very _least_!" The Bucket's exchanged mild glances at this off form of logic, not to mention Wonka's sudden quick and drastic way of talking.

"He can't be held down by petty rules and restrictions that families give children! It's all they _ever_ do, set down curbs and regulations to control everything! It's precisely why I didn't want-"

He stopped abruptly and looked down back into his meal. He hesitated, then continued with a different sentence. "-I just want him to have fun with the factory. H-he's just a kid, after all. . ."

There was an awkward silence. Mrs. Bucket paused, then smiled warmly. "Of course, that's just how we feel! There's really no point in running a _chocolate factory_ if you're not going to have fun with it, just going to try and make sense of it! Why, candy doesn't have to have any sense to it, that's why it's candy!" she laughed.

"Besides," she continued, "We don't need to set restrictions to keep him safe; he knows his line, and we're sure you'll take excellent care of him when you two are working."

Wonka looked back up at the two people across from him, nodded, and smiled. "Good." he said, seeming rather relieved, as he exhaled softly. Everyone else at the table calmed a bit and smiled as well, besides Grandpa George who muttered, _"Crackpot,"_ and was greeted with a sharp jab from Charlie's father.

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After supper, Mrs. Bucket went to help her and her husband's mother and father to bed. Charlie cheerfully said goodnight to Mr. Wonka, who gave a timid wave, then rushed up the latter to his small bedroom to get plenty of sleep for the next morning; he was very excited. Mr. Bucket left from saying goodnight to the old people and Charlie, then approached Willy Wonka as he was collecting his things.

He gave him a gentle slap on the back, causing Wonka to give a small jump, nearly dropping his hat and cane.

"Want to tell you that Charlie is more than looking forward to his first day tomorrow. He really does admire you, you know," he said nodding. Wonka opened his mouth to reply, but only projected a squeak as Mr. Bucket took his hand with both of his and shook it whole heartedly.

"And once again, thank you so much for all you've done, sir. It truly is all remarkable." Wonka again started to speak, but suddenly Mrs. Bucket came bubbling up next to her husband and wrapped her arms around the unsuspecting Mr. Wonka.

Now, you probably know that any other ordinary houseguest would gently pat a hug back, as people ordinarily did upon meeting and saying goodbye for the night. But Mr. Wonka was anything but an ordinary houseguest. The timid chocolatier hiccupped a gasp at the sudden contact, and stared wide eyed at the woman that was gently squeezing his waist.

The hug lasted for only a moment, as we've said that normal "Thank you for coming" hugs do, and she let go, taking his hand brightly and causing another rubbery squeak.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Wonka, we really do owe you so much! It's all we can do to welcome you into our home, while you've welcome us into your entire _life_! Our gratitude goes without saying, and little Charlie couldn't think more of you!"

She finally stopped bobbing his arm, which had gone rather limp with all the surprise, up and down and took a step back to her husband, who put his hands on her shoulders lovingly. After he caught his breath, Wonka hiccupped again and let loose a long giggle, quickly covering his mouth with one gloved hand and trying to retain his nervous self.

"Oh, w-w-well, thank _you_ so very much, Mrs. Bucket, for that lovely meal," he breathed another embarrassed little giggle and hastily cleared his throat.

"Like I said I'll . . . see you tomorrow morning then, bright and early!" His eyes darted to both of the smiling people across from him. Finally, he gave a bright grin and tipped his hat. "G'dnight!"

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket chorused a "Goodnight," as Mr. Wonka turned around and began to walk through the dimly lit meadow outside the Bucket house, making his way to what they assumed was the elevator, to go up to wherever his own living chambers must be in the factory.

Wonka was striding back, wondering why on _Earth_ those people, especially the _mother,_ was being so ridiculously nice to him, when a _"Goodnight, Mr. Wonka!"_ nearly made him jump out of his shoes. He spun around, halfway across the Chocolate Room, to see the little head of Charlie Bucket peeping out through a rather large hole in his roof, waving happily. Wonka let out a small laugh, waved, then turned around and began walking again, making a mental note to have the Oompa Loompas fix that. He reached the far wall and punched the call button for the elevator.

_I guess they aren't _that _bad._ Wonka tapped the top of his cane and glanced up. _But they're so weird . . ._He rubbed the back of his neck with confusion. They'd let Charlie do what he wanted in the factory? _Whatever_ he wanted? The elevator doors slid open and Wonka ambled in, still in thought.

It just didn't make sense. Why were they letting Charlie do what he wanted? Didn't they want some control over him, over the factory? He pressed a button that read, "Residence". I mean, that's what families did, wasn't it? They just told you what to do and what not to do . . . Why would this one be any different? Wonka pursed his lips. Maybe they really did just want Charlie to have fun.

"I guess some families could be like that," he considered aloud. He smiled with confusion and looked out the side of the lift. "Weird."

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket watched through their doorway until Wonka had entered the elevator and disappeared from sight. They smiled and re-entered the house, Mr. Bucket going to retrieve his book from that spring-less arm chair where he'd left it, and Mrs. Bucket going off to clean up from supper.

"He really is a nice old fellow," commented Mr. Bucket to his wife as she left to the kitchen. He heard her give an agreeing sigh. Suddenly her footsteps stopped and he heard he emit a little gasp. He picked up his book, flipping to the page where he left off. "Dear?"

"Now . . . how did he manage to do that?" she said softly.

Mr. Bucket glanced over curiously. "What?" He turned to see his wife staring at the empty dinner. Over by the sink were eight bowls, glasses, and spoons, resting carefully in their proper place for the night on the drying rack. Mrs. Bucket blew out a frustrated little breath then looked over to her husband, setting one hand on her hip, the other gently covering the smile that played on her lips.

"He cleared the table."

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**Author's Notes:** This chapter was really fun for me. I loooooooved writing about Wonka and how I thought he'd act at a dinner like that. I did my best to keep him in character, so I'm crossing my fingers.

"p-_bmbh_-": I have to say, even if I didn't do it that well, it was **_so much fun_** describing Wonka's. . . _problem._ Though I kept feeling really bad and having to go make hot chocolate so I'd feel better. That always works, right?

Chapter 3 Preview: Well, Charlie's first day in the factory. A few new rooms to see, a nice time to get acquainted with new surroundings, new neighbors. . . you know, the works.


	3. An Odd Day In, A First Day Out

Oh, by the way, I don't know if it really matters. . . but I feel left out so,

**Disclaimer**: I don't own what I don't own and what I own is everything I own but what I don't own, which I don't own so don't sue me. **pause **Please?

REVIEWERS! whOOP!

**Fxkoala:** Hmmm, will the hospitable and overly caring Buckets ever wear down the lovable and adorably edgy Willy Wonka?

Yes.

Maybe.

I don't know. I guess we'll see!

**DemiDevil:** Oh happy day! Calooh! Callay! My first threat! Hahahahah . . . neato. But for your Wonkaish drawing, I'm afraid it wasn't very Wonkaish as the link seems to have _poofed_. BUT PLEEEEEEAAAASE POST IT AGAIN, I LUUURRRVE WONKAISH DRAWINGS! **throws maroon and lilac and chocolate brown streamers into the air, which all happen to be eatable, so quickly holds out tognue**

THANK YOU, MY DEAR REVIEWERS, _ONE AND ALL_! **removes hat and takes a big swooping bow**

Now, for the story! Soooooo exciting, right? Kay. Nothing to say except I had fun. Lots and lots of fantastical, fantabulous, friggan' fraggin' fun. **nod** Yah. So, go on. If you want, I mean. You could change your mind right now and go to ex out of this window and I wouldn't be able to stop you. But I imagine you knew that. Kay, never mind. Do as you wish. **happy grin **

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Chapter 3

**An Odd Day In, A First Day Out **

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"Charlie, eat your breakfast!"

The young Bucket ran about his house, doing this and that in a rushed excited manner, frequently passing the table where some eggs and sausage were waiting patiently. Mrs. Bucket was at the kitchen counter, stacking clean dishes and glancing out of the corner of her eye at her son. Mr. Bucket was in his favourite arm chair reading the end of his book. He was very keen on it this morning, (he appeared to be on the last few chapters) for didn't seem to see any need to assist his wife in capturing their child.

The old people were resting in bed, including Grandpa Joe. It was still rather early; six-fourteen, to be precise. The whole Bucket family had failed to get back too sleep when Charlie had gotten up around five-forty-five that morning, happily preparing for his first day as an _apprentice chocolatier. _

He was very excited indeed.

Mrs. Bucket sighed and looked up at the ceiling where Charlie was currently heard in his room scrambling things around and shuffling things about.

"_Charlie _. . ." she complained tiredly. She turned all the way around and put her hands on her hips. "Charlie! It's getting cold!"

There was a moment of silence upstairs, and the rest of the family looked up curiously. Suddenly a small boy half slid/half jumped down the latter and skidded into his chair where he stuffed a big fork-full of egg into his mouth. He looked up at his mother and adjusted the food in his mouth.

"Thganksh, muom," came a muffled appreciation. His mother sighed again and turned back to the counter. She heard a few munches, and then a silence as Charlie tried to swallow.

"Chew it. . ." she warned, glancing back at him. He chewed more.

Mr. Bucket chuckled from his armchair. "You don't even know when he's coming, Charlie. Could not be for hours." He added with a yawn. Charlie carefully swallowed then took a gulp of juice.

"I know," he said in his naturally feeble voice, "I just want to be ready." He smiled and looked at his mother, who returned the smile and went back to the dishes.

"Yes, well, it _would_ be rude to be late. Especially on your first day."

"Though he didn't exactly say when he was coming, did he dear?" remarked Mr. Bucket looking at his wife.

"Nope," she yawned, shaking her head and covering her mouth politely. "But he said 'bright and early'."

"And it's bright. _And it's early,"_ grumbled Grandpa George from in bed.

"Pops. . ." began Mrs. Bucket.

"Well I just don't see what all the fuss is about!" he carped. "This joker comes and picks up our home, rattles us all about like we're canned nuts, then plops us down in a new place entirely," he gestured a "plopping" motion with his finger tips. "Then _we_ have him to supper." Grandpa George stuck up his chin in a dignified manner, continuing in a more subtle tone to get his point across. "Next morning we get up at the crack of dawn, when we don't even know what time to see him!"

Everyone just rolled their eyes at his naturally grumpy personality. He paused, then took on a solemn expression and added indignantly, "Not to mention that whole mess of him blasting through our roof, telling us we can't stay together as a family, and Charlie here having to tell him to scram."

Everyone was silent, looking down at whatever they were doing, and the rattle and clinks of Mrs. Bucket's dishes had softened. There was a moment of somewhat awkward reminiscence.

"We patched up the hole in the roof fairly easily," Mr. Bucket pointed out quietly after a while, then Charlie spoke up.

"He changed, Grandpa. He has." Charlie paused when his grandfather still wore the same grudging expression. Charlie turned back to face forward in his chair, his face becoming brighter. "He let you all come, didn't he?" Mrs. Bucket turned around and smiled briskly, hoping for a change in subject, then coming up and pulling his chair out.

"Yes Charlie, now you'd better get out there or you _will_ be late." Charlie nodded and kissed his mother on the cheek, going to get a little red book bag he'd filled up with things he might want during the day, then going to the rest of his family members. After giving a hug to his father, he went round the beds and gave each of his grandparents a kiss on the cheek. He got to Georgina, and she engulfed him a full hug, perhaps thinking he was going on a much longer trip than he really was. When he got to George, his grandfather wagged a finger at him.

"If that boy grants you any trouble, you make sure you give him a good kick!" Charlie chuckled and kissed his cheek, saying goodbye. He waved to everyone and trotted out the door. The rest of the family went back to their morning activities. A small "Hmph," was heard from the bed.

"Dad," Mrs. Bucket began, "There really isn't reason to hold anything against Mr. Wonka."

"He seems like a fine gentlemen," added Mr. Bucket, still reading his book.

The man in the bed glanced up. "All I want to know is why _did_ he change his mind!" Grandpa George looked at everyone in the house, who seemed to suddenly consider this question as well. It was a good question once they thought about it. They weren't entirely sure what the answer was. Grandpa George went on. "People don't just change their minds so quickly and surely about things like this. Not without some assistance."

"Charlie wouldn't do that, and even so, how would he?" Mrs. Bucket replied rhetorically, still focusing on her dishes, and knowing already where George was getting at. "It's not like he tracked down the man and made him reconsider." Grandpa George snorted.

"No, but that doesn't mean it's not what happened. Could be the other way around!" He said with a nod. None of the family members looked at him, but they were all listening very closely.

"I've been alive longer than any of you," he said, directing this at the other three in bed. "Mark my words," he continued, tapping his nose wisely.

"There was more here than just 'a change of mind'."

* * *

Charlie was sitting out a little ways from his house, carefully looking at the candy meadow's shrubbery. He wasn't eating any; he knew his mother wouldn't approve of that so directly after breakfast. More to the point, he was more interested in examining it than consuming it at the moment. He was about to start his _life_ learning how to create such things; he thought it a good idea to familiarize himself with the subject. 

Charlie took out a little notepad and pen, examining a twisty purple plant intently. After twiddling his pen over his paper for a moment, he smiled to himself and closed it up. Mr. Wonka would be there any minute; he didn't want to look silly by doing research.

So, instead, Charlie sat on a little patch of grass, thinking about what other parts of the factory he might see today. Suddenly, he got a bright idea and flipped open his notebook again. He put the tip of the pen to his chin in thought, then labeled it in big letters at the top,

_Rooms Seen_

He listed the obvious ones.

_Chocolate Room_

_Inventing Room_

_Nut Room_

_Television Room_

Glancing up for a moment, Charlie then scratched out the heading and put this;

_Places Seen_

This seemed more appropriate, and he started listing again.

_Fudge__ Mountain_

_Doll Hospitable and Burns Unit_

_Cotton__ Candy Room_

(Charlie put a question mark beside this one because he wasn't sure of the exact name; Mr. Wonka had passed by that one and didn't give many details when he'd seen it.)

Deciding he couldn't remember any others, Charlie slipped his book back into his bag and sighed serenely. He wondered what others he could add to his list after today. He leaned back on his elbows.

Maybe they wouldn't see any others at all. Perhaps today was simply going to be contracts and papers and agreements. Maybe all day would be filled up with signatures and initials and dotted lines.

Charlie smiled, knowing that wouldn't be true. Mr. Wonka didn't seem like the kind of person who'd want to waste an ounce of his time over things like that.

Perhaps they'd see the Inventing Room again! Charlie was eager to go there a second time and look at all the remarkable gizmos and gadgets that populated it. Though if the rest of the factory was as off-scale as the parts he'd seen already, he bet he'd witness many more bizarre inventions than just those.

Charlie let out a relaxed little breath in thought, then looked back at his house. He tilted his head to one side and smiled. It did look lovely there actually; its quaintness fit in very nicely with the rest of the room. It reminded him of a Gingerbread house. He thought of the little gingerbread people inside it, then wondered if he should have told them more properly about Wonka and his father. During their move to the factory, his explanation was probably not very understandable.

The moment would have been right. It would have mildly explained why the chocolatier had been reluctant to open the door to them. It may have helped them not to hold anything against the man. It really wasn't his fault how he felt on the subject, after all. . .

No, it wasn't his decision. It was Mr. Wonka's business; he should let him alone. Charlie rolled over on his side, leaning his chin on his hand and plucking up a little piece of grass. Besides, he didn't even know much about him. He didn't know why Mr. Wonka and his dad had stayed so far apart all that time.

It could have been the most obvious reason, Dr. Wonka being a _dentist _and all; their occupations were rather contradictory. But Charlie had an inner gut feeling that there was more than just that. He didn't know why, and he could be wrong. But just because they had jobs differently from each other shouldn't have been enough to detach them so drastically for so long.

Charlie fell onto his back and dropped the blade of grass on his tongue. It melted instantly, and a chilling minty sensation flew all around his mouth with a delightful tingle. Even though Charlie had made himself scarce shortly after they entered Dr. Wonka's home, he'd been there when the two embraced each other (quite awkwardly at that). There'd just been something in their eyes, he'd seen, like a deep secret they both knew but could never say aloud. Charlie had left silently then, to give them the privacy they deserved. He'd quietly closed the door behind him, and gone out into Dr. Wonka's plain respectable hallway to wait.

And he had waited.

He'd waited for what he thought to be perhaps forty-five minutes before Wonka came out, unspoken, but with a discrete smile on his face, and walked down the hall, giving only a small nod towards the door for Charlie to follow him.

Charlie played with the grass around him, ruffling it up and combing his fingers through it.

_There must be more,_ he thought to himself, staring at the dark, faraway ceiling of the Chocolate Room. He wondered what it could be that had caused the two's detachment, Mr. Wonka's isolation from other people, his incapability to utter certain words. . .

Charlie was in the midst of pondering over such morning thoughts when he recalled why he was out sitting on a candy hill in the first place. He looked around. No Mr. Wonka. Confused, Charlie wondered how long he'd been sitting here. He glanced at his wrist watch; a quarter past seven. The boy sighed.

_Where is he? _

_

* * *

_

In a large Caribbean-blue room that was equally tall as it was wide, Willy Wonka sat at his elegant wooden desk reading over some paperwork that he'd meant to go over as of five weeks ago. He rested his cheek on his rubber gloved hand with a little squeak, dully ripping open a piece of mail with a gold, W-engraved, sword-shaped envelope opener.

**_January 7_**

**_To Mr. Willy Wonka:_**

**_It has come to our attention, here at Ovum Incorporated that your candy business has more than thrived over the years, as has our plastic Easter egg Industry. And, as the owner of this fine management, I propose we join forces, merging such major successes together, and. . . ._**

Wonka flung the letter over his shoulder without more ado, nor any new expression whatsoever, like he'd never even picked it up in the first place, and singled out another envelope.

This one had a red stamp on the front that read "NASC" in a big circle. He cut it open and started off again.

**_16 of January_**

**_Ms. Jody Jackasson_**

**_President_**

**_NASC Associations_**

**_Dear Mr. Wonka: _**

**_On behalf of the entire membership of the National Anti-Sugar Consumption Association, I would like to ask you once and for all that you shut down your chocolate factory and the disaster it creates. Sugar increases the hyper activity of people's metabolism, especially young children who are the target of your sales, and not only does it unmercifully rot the teeth, but it is a know fact that. . ._**

Wonka tossed it aside as well, sighing. He reached for a plain white envelope, slit the top, and removed the parchment inside.

**_DATE: 23 January_**

**_To Whom It May Concern_**

**_Subject: Letter of Recommendation for Mr. Cann D. Steelier_**

**_It is with great pleasure that I send this letter of recommendation for a great man and loyal employee; Mr. Cann Steelier. Cannwell was a part of a USO Candy Corporation years ago, but has retired from that position, under management by Mr. F. Fickelgruber, and is now. . ._**

"Ucgh!" Wonka cried, throwing down the envelope like it was covered in ants. He "hmphed" huffily. "When will these people would stop bothering me?" he grumbled, then looked at the big stack of letters and paperwork that still laid on his desk. Never, probably. Did he really have to read all those? They weren't going to be important. None of it ever was.

He stuck his chin in his hand and drummed his fingers on the table, frustrated at himself for having let them pile up. He wondered why he had, seeming to recall starting them, deciding he was bored, and going off somewhere else to do something more fun. Wonka sighed.

_I should really stop doing that._

Suddenly a small knock was heard on his door. Relieved for the distraction, Wonka got up out of his chair and moseyed over to his big entryway. He swung the door open and looked down habitually. There stood a tiny little man in a bright orange shiny jumpsuit. He looked rather troubled, and quickly beckoned the chocolatier down to his level. Mr. Wonka crouched down and the Oompa Loompa whispered in his ear. After a moment of this, Wonka frowned.

"A house?" The oompa loompa nodded urgently. Wonka began the word "What", leaving his lips pursed, and looked down perplexed. _Why on Earth would there be a house in my Chocolate Ro-_

"OH!" He exclaimed, everything coming back to him suddenly. He laughed and waved a hand off to it. "That's just-" He stopped.

_Oh dear._ Had he forgotten to tell his little workers? He had. Which meant he'd probably also forgotten to give them orders to send a note up this morning reminding him. Which also meant he'd forgotten about-

"Charlie!" he cried. He hastily staggered back into his office, nabbing his things. Then he stumbled back out the door and down the hall, holding his hat to his head and gripping his cane in the other hand, leaving the little Oompa Loompa standing there rather puzzled and shaking his head at his boss's . . . Wonka-ness.

Wonka dashed wildly down the white-walled and blue-carpeted hallway, slipping into his coat, skidding at the corners, and wondering aloud how he could have forgotten.

"I should . . . have tied a string around . . . _my finger!" _He scolded himself as he ran.

Suddenly he stopped with a stagger at the fork in the hallway. He looked down one corridor, then the other, pouted and stomped his foot.

"_Where is it_?" He demanded to the air impatiently, gripping his cane tighter with a squeak. He paused for a single moment, then suddenly sucked in a breath, pursing his lips, and darted down the hallway to the left, remembering where he'd last departed from his transportation.

"This . . . is so . . . _unprofessional_!" he complained, sounding very unprofessional in any case. He spied the elevator and made a quick dash for it.

"Oooh, I could just _kick_ myself for making the poor boy wait s-oo**_OO_**_O**PH-" **_

CR**A_SHhh_**_H**!-**_

Thuddunk.

……………………

Wonka swung himself back up and let loose an airy giggle.

". . . so long," he murmured under his breath. He looked around nervously, quickly straightening back on his hat and snatching his cane, then punched the button to open the elevator doors.

After stepping in, he cleared his throat a little and calmly waited for the glass doors to close again. As the elevator departed he glanced up and hastily smoothed down his hair.

The doors reopened to reveal the beautiful Chocolate Room. Wonka stepped out, looking around curiously. _Now, is he still inside the hou-_

"Morning, Mr. Wonka!"

Wonka jumped in a small panic when the cheerful voice from behind him spoke up. He stumbled around, sighing with a sense of relief to see it was just Charlie, and pushed his hat down on his head once again, then lit up a smile.

"Good morning, my dear boy! I must say, I'm _terribly_ sorry for keeping you waiting." He took an opportunity to catch his breath. Charlie, who'd been kneeling down and looking at a taffy pussy willow, stood up and brushed off his pants.

"It's okay, I was just looking around the room again," he told him with a grin. Then he quickly added, "If that's alright, I mean . . ." Wonka let loose his first dazzling smile of the day and swayed back on his heels in a way that seemed to emphasize what he said.

"Of _course_ you can! You live here now, and it's _your_ factory too, remember!" Charlie popped on one of his meek little smiles. Wonka beamed down at him. "Now, we've gotten a bit of a late start, so- What's that?" He asked suddenly, pointing down at a little red backpack lying next to Charlie's feet. Charlie frowned, then looked down next to him.

"Oh just some things I thought I might want to bring with me." He smiled and slung it over one shoulder. Wonka tilted his head, looking at the little bag.

"Oh." He looked at it for a moment, then shrugged in an accepting manner and grinned. "Well, we'd better get truckin'! So much time and so little to do, ya know." He strode back into the Glass Elevator, happily followed by Charlie.

Once inside, as Charlie began to admire all the buttons on the wall, Wonka turned around. He quickly pulled out his pocket watch to see how late he'd actually been, and winced to see it was already half past eight. Stuffing it back into his coat pocket, he turned back around to Charlie, who he was happy to see still examining the buttons of the lift.

"So, Charlie, where to first?" he asked excitedly. Charlie jumped and looked to Wonka with his curious eyes.

"Me?" he asked politely. Wonka looked more excited than Charlie had been.

"Yeah!" he cried. "You're going to be running the factory; you should be the one to decide!" Charlie looked up at him.

"Mr. Wonka, I won't be running the factory for a long time. . ." Wonka held up his head and shut his eyes, putting both hands on the top of his cane in a very respectable way.

"Well, no better time to get the hang of it than the present! Took me long enough, and I built it!" he giggled.

Charlie looked from him to the buttons. How could he choose? There were so many, some he couldn't even read they were so far up the wall; his nose didn't reach more than half way up. And most didn't even make much sense to him.

**Cheeky Twirls  
Credible Undies  
Fill by Mouth  
Hairy Fairies  
Lemon Shortbread**

**Figs and Wigs Room  
Haystacks  
Juicy Flutes  
Mucky Water Room  
Peccadillo Circus**

**Pee Wee Thai Chi Room  
Purple Room  
Square Candy Room **

**Stud Muffins  
Unit Room **

**Phlegm Brulee  
Rocky Road  
Spewed Dumplings  
Television Room  
Whizzdoodles **

**Cinnamon Kisses  
Bright Room  
Apricottage Cheese  
Bendable Straws  
Children Only**

**Room De Jour  
Orangerie  
Exploding Candy  
Frangipan Origami  
Billy Cakes**

**Staring Way  
Train Station  
Wonka Rewards  
Ummph Room  
Hot Cross Nuns**

Wide eyed, Charlie turned up to Wonka with a helpless expression. Wonka sighed, folding his arms, and leaned back against the elevator wall. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Hey!" He reached across and punched a button marked, "Map Room". He then folded his arms again, resting back against the wall, and Charlie heard him murmur, "Slowpoke." No sooner had Charlie given a laugh had they both been smashed against the clear wall as the elevator gave a lurch and was off.

When they reached their stop, the doors opened up to an enormous hallway. Not only was it long, but the ceiling was exceptionally far from the ground. It was more like a narrow ballroom than a hall. The crystal lights that hung evenly from its ceiling seemed to darken as they got further down, until you could scarcely make out whether that was a wall at the end or if it simply kept going. _Who knows,_ thought Charlie, _It could._

The walls were a shade of pearl gray, and there was a beautiful dark red carpet going down the center, with gold trim and fringe at the ends. It was nearly the same exact colour of Wonka's coat, and Charlie kept a sharp eye so he might not loose him in the camouflage.

Wonka brushed out the elevator, Charlie right behind him, and began his way down the hall at his usual quick pace and long stride. When they got to the center, Wonka stopped abruptly to face the wall on the right, nearly causing Charlie to collide into him. Wonka glanced down.

"Sorry." Then he looked back up with a grin. "Here we are! The Factory Map!" Charlie craned his head up to look at the wall and saw that, in fact, on it was an enormous map! He stared in awe. There were little boxes all over it, and after reading their labels, Charlie realized they were rooms. Dozens and dozens, all leading to one another by a red line (Charlie looked at the key in the left-hand corner and saw this meant a hallway), a blue line (elevator shaft), or a green line (the key didn't seem to have a label for that one). Charlie continued to stare at it in amazement, then looked at the very top and saw the words, "LEVEL ONE".

Charlie's mouth popped open a bit, much to Wonka's delight. He glanced down at the boy staring at the map in wonder, and grinned to himself. He wouldn't deny it; it was pretty gosh darn neat.

"And here's the Chocolate Room," he said suddenly, walking up to the wall and touching a little box marked, indeed, "CHOCOLATE ROOM". "So here's the main corridor. . ." He ran his finger along a red line, then out to where the factory seemed to end. ". . . To here; the factory gates!"

Charlie was looking up at the map, and Wonka suddenly released a little gasp. "Oh, yah!-" he said, as he seemed remember something. He leaned over to the right side of the map where a little plastic box on the wall was holding pamphlets, and snatched one out. The chocolatier opened it up, scanned it, then gave a perfectly white grin and handed it to Charlie.

"Here. Give this to your . . . family." Charlie took it and opened it up as well, seeing it was a little map of the Chocolate Room like the one on the wall, leading outside, as well as marking different halls and ways to get there. It also seemed to have guidelines and facts about the factory; what time it shut down, its exact address, etc. "Wouldn't wanna get lost," Wonka laughed mildly, then stepped up to the wall again.

"So right now we are. . ." Wonka twirled his finger in the air above the map for a moment, looking for the right spot, then stabbed at it once it'd been located. "Ha!" He took his finger off so Charlie could read the label "YOU ARE HERE." Wonka tilted his head to one side with confused amusement.

"It amazes me how it figures that out every time I come here . . . huh. . ." he said quietly. Charlie grinned up at him, slipping the little booklet into his backpack, then turned around and pointed to the other wall, which was also covered with a map.

"And is that the second floor then?"

"You betcha." Wonka said proudly. Charlie gazed down the dark hallway, seeing now the side walls going down were lined with enormous maps, each of a different floor; the first one in front of them, second on the opposite wall, third next to the first, and so on. He tried to locate the end of the hall, but it was simply too dark to see.

"How many floors are there, Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked, still looking down the hallway. Wonka's eyes widened for an instant, then he put on a big grin and headed towards the elevator shaft hastily.

"HhhEY, let's go check out some other rooms, 'Kay Charlie! There's so much more to see, you know. Gotta keep moving. . ." Charlie looked from him back down the hallway, then quickly trotted up next to the chocolatier. They stepped into the elevator and Charlie wondered if he'd be able to pick a room yet. Wonka sensed the boy's uncertainty, and turned towards him with an excited little gasp.

"Who votes for the scenic route?" His hand shot happily up into the air, bringing out an excited little smile from Charlie. Wonka punched the button marked, " Random Place", causing the elevator to give another lurch and the occupants were once again splat against the sides. Wonka giggled, quickly mounting his cane against the opposite wall so he wouldn't squish the poor boy.

The lift swerved around a corner, knocking the two back into their original places, and was off once again.

* * *

"Darling, are your sure your boss doesn't mind?" 

Mr. Bucket didn't look up from his work. He was intently studying the schematics for the toothpaste-lid machine, trying to figure out why it had recently screwed many of the lids on backwards, defying the law of "righty-tighty, lefty-loosy," and making many customers very upset.

"Hm? Oh, yes dear, I called him up earlier and told him we'd moved; he offered me time to settle before I asked for it. Everything's understood."

Mrs. Bucket was currently dusting the table tops. The grandparents were in bed, Grandpa George reading a book (it actually seemed to be the beginning of Mr. Bucket's novel), and the other two grandmothers knitting happily. Grandpa Joe was simply looking out the window, gazing at everything there was, still giving time for his incredulity to wear off. Mr. Bucket nabbed a pen from the little table next to him and marked something on his papers, continuing to talk to his wife.

"And, er . . ." he silently mouthed whatever he was writing as he marked something else on his paper, ". . . and what about Charlie's school? You cleared everything over?" Mrs. Bucket chuckled and went to another area to clean.

"Just as much as you did. I simply excused Charlie from his classes today. His teacher didn't ask, and she was going to send someone to collect his homework for him, but I clarified that he'd take it tomorrow. No need to give too much information out just yet. Not until it's absolutely necessary." She blew some hair out of her face and continued to shine the dear life out of a cabinet counter. Mr. Bucket glanced up and frowned.

"What is it?"

"What's what?" she asked, still scrubbing. Mr. Bucket set down his papers and gave a look to his wife's back.

"You always clean when something's worrying you." Mrs. Bucket turned around, rather out of breath from the polishing, and set her hands on her hips critically.

"Nothing's wrong." Her husband kept his gentle scowl, then sat up more and counted his fingers.

"Shined everyone's shoes twice the week your mother had the flue, _tried_ to clean behind the refrigerator when you were expecting Charlie, you wouldn't stop mopping the floor all during that Golden Ticket business . . ." He set his hands down and waited for his wife's excuse this time. She let out a breath and dropped her hands to her sides in a shrug.

"It's just rather new is all! I mean . . . we have been faced with some serious changes in the past forty-two hours . . ." she turned back to cleaning.

"I thought you were happy with it?"

Mrs. Bucket kept on polishing, quickening as she spoke. "Well I am, dear, of course! This is . . . incredible, honestly! But it's also a lot to deal with! It's a big thing, moving into a factory! The most famous chocolate factory in the world! I'm more than grateful, I _couldn't_ be more grateful, but it's just so . . . big! I-"

Her husband, who'd sneaked out of his chair during Mrs. Bucket's rambling, relieved her of her dusting cloth, and put his hands on her shoulders to relax her.

"I'm not going to let you near the kitchen cupboard if you're going to keep that up." He said seriously, sliding the bottle of wood cleaner away. His wife let out a small breathless chuckle. "I know. It will be stressful in the beginning. But so are all good and wonderful things." He pecked her on the cheek as she leaned back against him. "It'll all be fine. Soon it will be as every-day as cabbage soup."

"Oh, I know," she sighed. "But we _will_ need to find the time to talk to Mr. Wonka about everything. Besides Charlie, I mean; what will we do about groceries, or school and your job? We don't even know our way around here! I've not set foot outside since last night!" she laughed. Mr. Bucket squeezed his wife's shoulders lovingly, then departed back to his chair to fold up his papers.

"Well when Mr. Wonka comes back tonight, I'll make certain to bring it up." He nodded, and his wife nodded back. The grandparents, who'd been listening in bed, nodded too, going back to their things. After a moment, Mr. Bucket looked up and turned back to his wife.

"Dear, where might . . . the newspaper be?" Mrs. Bucket pulled back her hair and began to tie it up out of her face.

"It. . . Could it possibly be on the doorstep?"

"But how . . .?" Mrs. Bucket shrugged and went into the kitchen.

"Who knows in this place. But Mr. Wonka did say his workers would help us settle. Why not see if one of them is out and about, I'd also like to know when we should be expecting him and Charlie back."

Mr. Bucket frowned, but carefully made his way to the back door. He swung it open, once again blasting the same strong sweet smell into the house that the Bucket's had yet to figure out the origin of, and looked around. He took a step out, leaning forward to see further around the house.

". . . Hello?" He paused. Suddenly there was a clatter of pans from within the house followed by a surprised little shriek.

"Oh!- Dear . . .?" Mr. Bucket turned to face his wife in the house. She was wide-eyed, and bounced a little as she pointed downwards towards his knees. He glanced down and was rather staggered to see a small man in a bright red rubber jumpsuit staring up at him. Mr. Bucket took a step back, and cocked his head to one side.

The little chap stood there attentively, looking up at Mr. Bucket. Charlie's father glanced back up at his wife, who was bouncing a little again. She looked up at him with a face of unsure realization, and mouthed the words, "OOMPA LOOMPA", then nodded down to the swirly haired worker. A couple pans were scattered by her feet, and she was holding a pot in both hands, as if ready to squash the little creature if it got too feisty. Mr. Bucket stared down at it, (it was still standing attention and looking up patiently at Mr. Bucket) then forced out a few words.

"Er . . . do, um. . ." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you happen to know where I might find . . . the newspaper . . .?" He asked unsurely. The little man blinked, then turned his head sharply to the left and circled his hand in a beckoning motion. Mrs. Bucket gasped and dropped the remaining pot that was in her hand, covering her mouth with both, as three more of the little things scurried up to the first.

They huddled up, and a series of murmurs and occasional snickers were heard from the circle. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged looks of fascination, and Mr. Bucket put one hand on his hip, the other gripping a tuft of hair on the back of his head. Every once in a while one of the little men in the circle would lift up his head to glance at the larger people, then go back into the group to say something.

After about half a minute of this, the three others scurried back off into the room, leaving the initial one standing alone in front of Mr. Bucket once again. Mr. Bucket watched the others go, then looked at the one left curiously. Suddenly the little gentleman pulled out a newspaper from behind his back and held it up to Mr. Bucket, who looked at it, then carefully took the little rolled up paper and tried a mild grin.

". . . Thank you sir," he said with a nod. The little person nodded well naturedly, then pulled his arms up in a tight cross against his chest. Mr. Bucket slowly moved his gaze to his wife, who made a frantic rolling motion with her hands to return the gesture. He looked back down to the oompa, who was waiting with his hands in the same position patiently, then slowly brought his arms across his chest as well. Seeming satisfied, the tiny man took a little bow, and scurried off into the room to go back to whatever tasks he had for the day.

As soon as he was out of sight, Mrs. Bucket stumbled over the pans with a clatter and out of the house to her husband. She grabbed onto his chest and looked wide eyed to where the little thing had run off to.

"Darling . . . . . .?" Mr. Bucket, looking a little dazed, glanced the same way, then down towards the ground, and flicked on a confused little smile.

"Oompa Loompa." He stated with nod. He slapped his wife gently on the back, then staggered back into the house. Mrs. Bucket looked from where the Oompa Loompa left to her husband several times, then snatched the ends of her skirt and stumbled back in behind him, ready to demand all the information she could get.

* * *

". . . Oh, and that's the testing section of the Bubble Room where we test the bubbles to make sure they bounce high enough." Wonka pointed at a glass squared-in platform where dozens of Oompa Loompas were bouncing wildly atop giant multi-coloured bubbles. Charlie quickly scribbled in his notebook. 

"A-and this is where we harvest the grumble weeds and tulips for the candy bouquets!" The elevator passed a window where Oompa Loompas scattered around a bright green meadow were cutting the overgrown grass and piling it in wheelbarrows. They all wore gardening gloves, and waved their little hands when they saw the lift go by. Wonka waved back with glee, then leaned lower to Charlie and put his hand to the side of his mouth.

"They're best in the winter season," he said quietly, then drew himself up like he'd just told a secret and didn't want anyone else to know.

The elevator turned sharply to the right, going down a different path. They passed a circular room with an enormous vat of chocolate in the center and a clear pipe going from up it into the ceiling. An assembly line was carrying little chunks of pink coloured fudge under a spout that connected into the tub, and were smothered with a dribble of chocolate, then rolled into a hole in the wall. Little oompa loompas were standing on a platform around the tub, stirring it with long sticks occasionally, and taking care that each piece of fudge was covered equally with chocolate.

Mr. Wonka beamed, and pointed excitedly out the window. "And this is the room where I make the most delicious kind of strawberry-flavored chocolate-coated fudge!" he said happily, then watched the process in the room with interest. Charlie looked up at Wonka.

"This is where Augustus Gloop went to?" he asked observantly. Wonka frowned and looked down at Charlie with a baffled expression.

"Who?" Charlie smiled and looked back at the room.

"Nothing," he giggled. The elevator suddenly took another sharp turn to the left, down a different pathway. It opened up into what Charlie realized was the same way they'd gone on the tour. They passed Fudge Mountain, bunches of bundled up oompa loompas scaling its snowy peak from far below, and began past the room with the pink sheep. Charlie looked up at Wonka for a narrative. Wonka's face fell a little like last time, and he glanced down at Charlie with a small giggle.

"And uh, heheheh . . . this is where we collect the . . . wool candy. . ." he trailed off and turned the other way. Charlie watched with curiosity as the little oompa loompas shaved the sheep then stuffed the pink fluff into the giant cotton candy machine against the wall. A grin grew across his face, and he tried his very best not to laugh as Mr. Wonka rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, made a face, then spun to the other side of rooms.

The elevator slid charmingly on its cable, passing the Puppet Infirmary, which was rather empty except for a few dolls still recovering from their last show's little mishap. They flew up and slid to a momentary stop in front of what Charlie recognized as the Secretarial Offices. After the two got their footing once again, Wonka looked up and smiled as he waved happily to a female oompa loompa sitting at a desk.

"Oh_ hi_, _Carol!"_ The little oompa loompa paused in her typing and waved back. Wonka leaned forward to look around the rest of the offices. "Where's Doris today?" The oompa loompa held up little note from the table that read,

Maternity leave.

Back next Tuesday.

- Doris

Wonka's jaw dropped with a colossal grin.

"_Nuh uh!"_ The Oompa Loompa that was covering for Doris smiled and nodded. Wonka pulled himself up straight, only to be tossed back around when the lift began motion again.

"You make sure you send her a congratulatory gift basket from me, 'kay?" he giggled excitedly. They saw the oompa loompa give a thumbs up, right before the elevator dropped abruptly. It soared downwards, passing oompa loompas on both sides blasting guns filled with little bits of multi-coloured candies. Wonka grinned.

"And this," he exclaimed as a bullet went flying across the elevator, missing it by an inch, "is Target Practice! Where they shoot the candy and marshmallow bits into the chocolate! Plus," He giggled and looked out the window to admire the colours, "It's really fun." Charlie began to write this one in his notebook.

Wonka noticed a scratching noise, and glanced over. Charlie was writing something. He cocked his head to one side, and slowly leaned down behind the little boy to look over his shoulder. Charlie didn't notice.

"What are you doing?" Wonka whispered curiously after a moment. Charlie looked behind him and smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, just . . . notes." Wonka was still looking at the notes over Charlie's shoulder, and the boy handed them up to him. Wonka took the little notepad and held it up in the light. He tilted his head and turned the book upside down.

"Notes? . . ." he repeated, not really paying attention, but still inspecting the book interestedly. Charlie put his hands in his pockets.

"About the rooms," he explained. "I thought it'd probably be handy to have them written down, and what they're for." When Wonka still looked confused, and held the book at a crooked angle, Charlie continued. "Just so I know them, I mean." Wonka looked up and suddenly let out a little laugh.

"Oh, _gosh,_ Charlie, you're gonna need a lot of paper to do all that!" he giggled. "There's a ton of rooms! More than just here in the elevator! Thousands!" He spread his arms out wide, the notepad's papers fluttering about in one hand. He gave it back to Charlie, who took it without looking at it. His eyes were locked on Wonka in amazement.

"_Thousands?"_

Wonka swayed forward and put his hand on his chest. "_I_ don't even know how many!" he exclaimed, a huge grin still on his face. Charlie closed his notepad and slipped it back into his backpack, then looked back up at Wonka in awe.

"But . . . you built them." He pointed out perplexed. Wonka stood back up and frowned.

"True." He waited a moment, then smiled again and looked back down at Charlie. "But do you know how many teeth you have?" Charlie shook his head. Wonka grinned. "Me neither, even though I brush 'em every night!" He glanced up.

"I suppose I could count them . . . but who has time for that?" He put forefinger to his chin in thought, resting his elbow on his other arm. "I _could_ have my orthodontist count them sometime . . . next time I get them checked . . ."

"Or your father," suggested Charlie from below. Wonka quickly looked down.

"Huh?" Charlie hesitated a moment then shrugged mildly.

"He could count them for you. Since he's a dentist." The top-hatted man glanced up out the window, looking slightly confused. "Next time you visit him, I mean." Wonka didn't say anything. Charlie paused.

"You . . . are going to see him again?" the chocolatier looked down at him, then quickly back out the window.

". . . Yeah . . ." he replied vaguely. There was an oddly placed silence. Charlie finally spoke again.

"Don't you want to?" he asked softly. Wonka was still gazing out the window. He opened his mouth a little and paused, then closed it again. Finally the man nodded gently, still gazing out the window, brows knit, like he was trying to calculate something in his head. There was another silence, and Charlie spoke.

"I mean . . . it seemed like everything was okay with you two now. I'm sure he would like to see you again too." Charlie didn't fully understand why Mr. Wonka was acting like this. He'd seen how relieved Wonka had been when they left Dr. Wonka's house; why did he still act so oddly on the subject? This was why Charlie wondered what else there could be that he didn't know.

The chocolatier suddenly looked down towards his feet, his eyes slowly widening, then looked sharply up again and glanced over at Charlie. He forced on a grin that Charlie had begun to learn was Wonka's way of covering things he didn't feel like showing up, and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! Sure." He let out a little breath, like he'd been holding it for a long time, and turned to face out the window again, still holding onto that protective smile for dear life. Charlie decided to drop the whole conversation. Mr. Wonka obviously wasn't comfortable with the subject, and Charlie shouldn't bother him.

They were both silent for a moment, simply looking at the views that passed them by. Suddenly Wonka pulled out his pocket watch, and flipped it open. Barely looking at it, he flipped it shut again and tapped the front with his thumb.

"Gosh, look at the time. We'd best be getting you back, Charlie. You know what your dad said about school nights." He frowned for a moment, like he needed something clarified. "You . . . _do_ have school tomorrow, right?" Charlie nodded, and Wonka grinned again. "Well, let's head on back then, shall we?"

He pressed the button marked "Chocolate Room", and the elevator gave a little jerk then headed in a different direction with the two occupants inside.

When they arrived, the doors slid open revealing the dim Chocolate Room and the darling little Bucket house in the center of it all. Charlie stepped out, followed by Willy Wonka, and they began their way to the house.

"Thank you for taking me around the factory today, Mr. Wonka," Charlie mentioned politely, looking at the ground as he walked. Wonka gave a grin and waved his hand off to it.

"Don't mention it, dear boy! We've still got much much more besides that! Just you wait and see what we can do this weekend!" Charlie looked back at him and smiled happily. Suddenly the swing of a squeaky door was heard in front of them, followed by a "Charlie?" The boy looked up and saw his mother holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a head of cabbage in the other. Charlie grinned and scurried up to meet her.

"Hi, mum," he said when he reached her, and gave her a little hug. She put the spoon in her other hand and ruffled her son's hair affectionately as he rested his chin against her apron.

"How was today, darling?" she inquired with a grin. Charlie nodded happily.

"Great! We saw lots!" His mother smiled, taking up her spoon again and wagging it in the air.

"That's good. Now dinner's almost ready, so come on in and wash up, won't you dear?" Charlie nodded as his mother went back in. He wasn't too hungry because he'd nibbled at some tid-bits after breakfast before Mr. Wonka had shown up that morning, but Mr. Wonka hadn't had anything. He was probably starving.

"Mr. Wonka, you can stay for-" he began brightly as he turned around, but stopped short and rested his eyes on the empty little patch of grass in front of him. Charlie let his shoulder's drop a little and frowned.

He was gone.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Kay, ya know what? The Map Room was _so_ my idea! I wrote about that (it was initially Map Hall . . .) before I put the rooms in, and when I did, I saw Map Room and flipped out, and was like, "Oh _yah_, I _rock_, I think like _Willy Wonka_," and I bounced and bobbed and jigged and did his little Swanky hand dance to music that wasn't there. Yuuup, I had a good ol' time with that. 

The map: Dunno if you noticed the lines in the key on there. . .

Wonka's letters: Did ya catch some of the things in there? **giggle**

Chapter 4 Preview: Oh dear, it seems something is amok with our Mr. Wonka (the poor darling). And Charlie goes to school! Also, we get a little aftermath. . . Yes, I love the vague element of mystery. Do you _know_ what the chapter will be exactly about? Do you _know_ what aftermath? Noooo. . . It's so mysterious. OH! I can use a word I discovered in my own sweet time and in-deliberation the other day! **ahem** The ambiguity of it. Yaaaah. Yah, if ya don't know it look it up. Engage yourselves. My chapter previews are very ambiguous.

Mh-hm!


	4. Water Glasses

**REVIEWERS: **

Fine, review-ER! But, that just means she gets all the glory.

**DEMI-DEVIL, OMG, I _LUUURVE_ THAT DRAWING AHHHHAHAHAA! **

That's darling. By the way, thank you for being my, cough-ONLY REVIEWER LATELY- cough, as the rest seem to have thinned drastically. And if you actually like my story, _that's even better!_ giggle So here, so sorry this chapter took so long. (And Happy Halloween everyone! -If anyone went trick or treating, good for you, because I couldn't. **:sheds a tear: **AND I AM NOT YET TOO OLD.)

* * *

Chapter 4

**Water Glasses**

**

* * *

**

Willy Wonka sighed, and pulled off his hat and jacket, hanging them drearily on the red wood coat hanger by his door. He trudged over to his little desk that sat in front of the enormous circular window and planted his hands on the top, supporting his weight against it. He was suddenly very tired.

Out the window behind his desk, he could see it was snowing. He walked around the table and plopped himself in his wheelie chair, spinning it around to face the glass, then leaned back and laid his arms at his side lifelessly.

The snow outside fell steadily, creating a thick cloud of darkened white in front of the window so that just the silhouette of a little town peeked out from behind it. Wonka kicked off his shoes and crossed his legs. He put two fingers against his temple and rested his elbow on the chair side, wrapping the other arm around his waist, and exhaled. He had a lot on his mind.

The fact was, he wasn't sure if it was good or not that Charlie had brought up his father. It was probably good, he supposed, or else he wouldn't have thought about it again. But now that he did, he realized that he really wasn't sure about the matter. True, everything had gone well when he'd gone to see his dad last week. Great, really . . . much better than he thought it would . . .

Wonka swung himself out of the chair and walked back around his desk, knowing he'd nod off if he stayed there. He stopped in the middle of the room and folded his arms.

Then Charlie had asked if he _wanted_ to see his dad again. And he'd nodded. It was the truth, after all. He did want to see his father again. Yesterday had reminded him how much he'd really missed him . . . That wasn't the problem. He just didn't know if Dad would want to see _him _again. . .

Wonka gently yawned, covering his mouth with a purple hand politely in spite of his lack of company, then folded his arms tighter against himself; he was chilling up again without his jacket. He gently swung his leg above the floor for a moment like he was kicking rocks that weren't there, then went over and plopped down on his bed. It was king sized, and the quilt was a dark royal blue velvet. He ran his fingers over its soft material thoughtfully.

Everything _had_ gone well . . . but that may have been inevitable. Now that he thought of it, he didn't know what he'd been expecting. He hadn't really been expecting anything. He felt like no sooner had he mentioned his father (he still wasn't sure why he even had) that they were on his doorstep out in the middle of a cold unwelcoming nowhere.

He hadn't had time to expect anything. He'd never thought of it before. _Never_ had he thought he'd ever be going off to see his father again. And yet . . .

Wonka glanced at his door, mentally looking through it at the elevator doors that stood waiting in the hallway.

He'd put that button it. Wonka groaned miserably and fell back onto his bed with a bounce, planting his fists against his forehead, and wondering why he did this to himself.

He'd named it perfectly, too.

Why _did_ he put that button in? He didn't even remember building it into the wall, but neither could he remember a time when it didn't exist!

He continued to play with the comforting velvet on his bed spread. He supposed it didn't matter. It turned out he'd needed to use it after all. But would he ever be able to use it again?

_Dad _had_ seemed_ . . .

Was happy the word? Well, definitely not _un_happy to see him. They'd been able to talk to each other. He'd actually . . . _hugged_ him; something he'd almost _never_ done before, and had taken Wonka by surprise . . . - but that could have just been the initial reaction of euphoria. He didn't think it was enough to make him want to see Willy _again._

And even after this ice-break, Wonka still had that mild sense of terror when he thought of seeing his father again. His insides twisted and he couldn't help but feel nervous. It had been the first time he'd seen him in fifteen years, after all. Actually, even longer than that; the first time since . . .

Wonka rolled his shoulders back comfortably, and released a soft sigh.

Still . . . he wouldn't . . . really mind . . .

* * *

"Come class, settle down. . ." The teacher tapped her ruler impatiently on the top of her desk, and the children all scrambled to their seats. She sighed and mentally cursed whoever made Wednesday the middle of the week. "Alright, to start off, everyone promptly get out your books." She began writing the daily essay on the board with a squeaky piece of chalk, and the pupils all scribbled in their notebooks studiously.

Charlie Bucket sat in the fourth row back, dully jotting down his assignment. He glanced up, seeing that his teacher was still writing, and put his chin in his hand. He gazed out the thick-glassed window and through its aging-rings, into the snowy outside world.

Past the blur of snowflakes, he could see the top of Willy Wonka's amazing chocolate factory. Charlie grinned, and remembered just last week when he'd sat in this same spot, looking at the same thing, filled with amazement and wonder.

Charlie was a good student; he always paid attention in school and received good grades. But never was there a day he forgot to spare a moment to glance out the window, up at the extraordinary factory. He was always fascinated by it, wanted to know everything about it. And every birthday when he received a Wonka bar, he always stuck the wrapping against the wall next to his bed, just as a reminder that that factory was there. No matter how bad things had gotten for his family, as long as that factory still existed there was always hope in Charlie's mind.

Now, hope wasn't needed. There wasn't anything else he could hope for. Everything imaginable he'd ever even dreamt of was right there, patting him warmly on the shoulder. Charlie shifted into his seat tiredly, still looking at the factory. The funny thing was, no one else knew about it.

". . . I know, they said they were mutated afterwards or something . . ."

". . . But they didn't die . . ."

Charlie glanced over at a couple boys in the row next to him, whispering back and forth to each other. The rest of the room had finished their assignment as well, so it was filled with the soft murmurs of people's conversations as the preoccupied teacher continued to screech away on the chalkboard.

". . . and he came out made of fudge!"

"Phbsshh, that's a bunch of rubbish. . ."

"-Could that really happen . . .?" (Another boy eagerly joined in the conversation.)

Charlie's eyes grew a little and he turned around to listen, scooting a bit closer in his chair.

"Well I heard that little rich girl was attacked by _wild animals_ while she was in there!"

"Why would animals be in there?"

"He could use them for labour . . ."

"What about the fifth, what happened to him?-"

"They never found out who he was, did they?"

"Naw, I heard the last kid found the ticket just before the tour, so no one knew who they were-"

"Well whadd'about the kid that's twenty feet tall now 'cause they put him in one of those torture devices where they stretch you!"

"That'd break his back, not just make him taller, dummy-"

"And how would you know?-"

"Oh! I heard that that girl that had a million trophies turned into a giant raspberry!"

"-Blueberry," corrected Charlie from in his seat. The three boys turned around to look at him. Charlie closed his mouth and slid into his seat so not to be noticed any more.

The teacher exhaled and turned back to her class, rubbing her temple. "Alright everyone . . ." she began to the noisy class. No one noticed her. She sighed and slapped her desk with the yard stick for attention. The students quieted down and turned to her.

"I'm going to be right back, so behave yourselves while I'm gone. . ." Her pupils all looked at her obediently, and she wrote a page number for them to do in their workbooks on the board, then retreated out of the classroom to get herself an aspirin.

As soon as she was out of sight, the hot shot of the class jumped out of his chair and snatched a little black remote control that rested on the wall shelf.

"Let's find something interesting!" he said in a loud, hotheaded tone, turning on the dusty television that sat in the high left corner of the wall, and began flipping the channels. Due to the school's control over the television programs each classroom got, 'interesting' was simply the least dull thing that happened to be on.

And this time, it happened to be the news, which miraculously seemed to be _very_ interesting at the time. Someone in the class shouted, _"Stop there!" _The boy with the remote dropped it clumsily on the teacher's desk and slowly sat back down on the top of his own. The rest of the children scrambled up so they could get a closer look at the television screen, followed by lots of "Ohh," and "Shhhh!" and other murmurs of the sort.

Charlie scooted up so he could see what was on, peering over the heads of his classmates. On the bottom of the fuzzy screen, the program read, "Little League's Gymnastics' Competition", then faded away. A little girl in a white sport's leotard was standing at the end of a padded court, preparing for her act. But there was one odd thing about her; she was blue. Her skin was blue, her hair was blue, and when her close up came, her eyes and even the _roots _of her hair were blue.

". . . and last up, we have . . . Miss _Violet Beauregard_. This young lady's working her way to the top at a fast pace and doesn't seem to have any intention of slowing down. . ." Just then the girl took a few steps forward and took stance, but instead of running, did front-flips at the speed of lightning towards the bar!

She flipped over and over like a runaway slinky, then did one mighty flip up onto it, catching it in her hands and spinning herself round and round. She let go, flying into the heavens, and did a triple-summersault followed by a spin in midair, landing with a cartwheel on another pole.

She caught her balance as the audience "Ooh"ed and "Ahh"ed in awe, and jumped off the pole, doing another summersault where she fell back to grip the third and highest pole, likening in appearance of some breed of monkey or a living rubber band.

She spun three, four, five and six times in one hazy blue and white blur, then let go, spinning back into the air to the point where it seemed she'd never come back down. The blue sphere of a girl spun in mid air as she reached her peak, then plummeted back to the ground like a bouncy ball, landing feet first, perfectly poised. There was a dangerous silence, then she held her shoulders back and raised her arms in the air with a bow. The crowd went wild.

"And that was absolutely _amazing_! Never seen anything like it Bob!"

"Me neither Jim . . . Let's see what the judges say." The crowd turned to the judges, who glanced at each other, then each held up their sign. Every single one read, "10". Once again, the crowd screamed with applause.

"And we have a _winner!_ Violet Beauregard is the new _champion of the Youth's Olympic Series!_" exclaimed the speaker as the audience stood up and hooted wildly. Violet bowed again and flipped off the court, where her mother brought her up a white jumpsuit coat (she was wearing a matching one like it) and squeezed the daylight out of her in a hug.

When she was free, Violet was seen to reach onto her coat pocket and pull out a little stick of gum, popping it into her mouth. Dozens of reporters dashed up to the couple, flashing cameras and holding microphone under their chins. One butted his way to the front.

"Violet, what will you do now that you've won the Little League Gymnastic competition?" The camera drew a close up of the pair. Violet grinned at the reporter, chewing her wad of gum happily.

"I guess I'll keep going for the top, ya know? I was thinking of goin' to the World Olympics, the real thing!"

"And what exactly happened at Wonka's factory tour?" he asked, eagerly jutting the microphone under her chin. "Has the industrial-accident affected you in any way besides your appearance?" Violet just laughed and shrugged.

"I'm pretty flexible." Another bust of reporters trying to ask questions, this one to her mother.

"Miss Beauregard, how do you feel about all this?" The lady put her hand on her daughter's back.

"Well I knew my little Violet could do it. She's just so determined and talented. But no matter what happens, I'll always be proud of her." She nodded, and Violet looked up at her mother happily, gnawing her gum at full strength. Mrs. Beauregard smiled down at her daughter, then clamped her mouth shut in a demonstrating manner. Violet's eyed widened attentively, and she shut her mouth to chew, smiling back proudly at the cameras. Another reporter scrambled his way to the front of the crowd.

"Violet, is there anything you'd like to say to the world?" Violet turned her dark blue eyes from him to the camera excitedly.

"Well yeah. Just that, always work really hard and you can do anything, always go for your goal. A-and always be confident, 'cause confidence, it's key." She nodded. The reporter began to move the microphone away, but Violet's mother quickly drew the attention back.

"A-and . . .," she nodded to the camera, then straightened her shoulders and patted down her hair. "Eh- single mother looking for a man. Someone who likes to be active and is supportive, who'll take care of us." She looked down at her daughter and smiled back at the camera. "Someone who'll take good care of my little Violet here."

The smiling blue girl leaned into her mother, who wrapped her arm tightly around her daughter. Violet popped a bubble. The reporters all flashed wildly at the pair, smothering them with questions.

The entire class was now watching the show with great interest, and didn't notice their teacher trudge back into the classroom. She held an ice pack to her forehead, and sighed when she saw her class sitting on desks and anything that was near, watching the television. She grabbed the yard stick and smacked it down on her desk loudly.

"Alright, back to your seats," she said as all the children hurried back to their assigned desks. She clicked off the television and sighed, glancing at the remote on her desk. "And _who_ turned on the tellie?" The group was silent, but slowly the shabby little boy in front stood up.

"Mum'," he said guiltily. The teacher let out another tired breath.

"Jeremy Welkins, you need a hair trim," she said as she went back to sit at her desk. The class tittered and little Jeremy grinned sheepishly.

* * *

Willy Wonka took a big single step out of the glass elevator and into the Chocolate Room. He paused, admiring the scene for a moment, then released a big "What a beautiful morning" sigh. The waterfall seemed to be bubbling and brewing quicker today, and the light coming from the little circular windows in the ceiling sent a shimmer across all the candy plants, looking like someone had just gone around and polished every one.

The swudge field looked perfectly green and freshly-cut, and even the candy scented air had a clear, crisp feeling. Wonka grinned and looked down the center at the little Bucket house. He tilted his head to the side, happily deciding it didn't clash at all with the rest of the room. In fact, it looked kind of cool there. He was about to take a step forward when he heard his stomach give a little grumble. He glared down at his waist.

"Oh hush," he said, annoyed with it for bothering him with such silly little things, and started his way towards the cottage, one foot in front of the other, cane in front of his foot. With his standard long strides, it didn't take him long to reach the front of the house, but before he could get to the door, it swung open as Mrs. Bucket popped out, sweeping the doorstep.

Wonka gave a little gasp and stumbled back. He straightened his hat and mounted his cane back into the ground for support, scolding himself mentally. He'd _really_ have to learn to get used to seeing other people every day from now on. Mrs. Bucket looked up from the front step and smiled.

"Oh, Mr. Wonka, good morning," she said cheerfully. Wonka grinned and tapped a finger to the rim of his hat in his customary way.

"Morning, Mrs. Bucket," he said, restraining a nervous giggle, and stepping closer to the house, "Just here ta . . . pick up Charlie!" he smiled brightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, he and my husband just left for the day, you just missed them," she said kindly, sweeping around the edges of the doorstep. Mr. Wonka cocked his head to one side. Mrs. Bucket looked back up and smiled. "For school," she clarified.

"Oh! Yah!" he laughed, rolling his eyes and tapping the side of his head in a forgetful manner, "I just can't seem to keep track of things lately. Well, I'll be going then, sorry to bother you . . ." He turned around to start away.

"Oh, wait . . ." Mrs. Bucket quickly glanced back up and trotted out on the doorstep. "Mr. Wonka, come in for some breakfast," she insisted, setting her broom back inside the house. Wonka turned halfway back around and hesitated.

"Well, I really shouldn't," he said after a moment, "I . . ." What did he have to do? Today had been planned with Charlie; he didn't have anything else that needed to be done. "I, eh-" He cut off with a sharp breath intake as Mrs. Bucket nabbed the sleeve of his maroon coloured coat and dragged the wide eyed chocolatier towards the house as he faltered in his steps behind her.

"No no no no no, you got away before dinner last night, you really should have something to eat," she insisted as she pulled him through the front door. Wonka grabbed onto his hat so it wouldn't fall off and stumbled in after her. Once inside, she spun around and tugged his coat straight, then suddenly took up both his arms. He glanced at them, wondering what she was doing..

"Look at you," she said with a voice of mild dismay, holding his slender limbs up by the wrists in a scarecrow position. She turned to the grandparents in bed. "Needs more nutrition, is what," she said nodding to them, then let go of his arms and measured his waist under his coat with her fingers. Wonka let out a startled little squeak. Reflexively wrapping his arms around his midriff, he squirmed away, turning a pale shade of cherry and drowning in unsuccessfully stifled giggles.

Darn his ticklishness.

Mrs. Bucket chuckled under her breath, then walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. "Come on," she said kindly as she headed over to the stove. Wonka tried to quickly recompose himself, hung up his hat on the coat hanger next to him, and hesitantly but obediently sat down. Mrs. Bucket was multitasking in the kitchen, seeming to cook every part of breakfast at once. She looked back at him.

"How would you like your eggs, Mr. Wonka?"

He glanced up. "Eh . . . s-scrambled . . . please . . . ?" he stuttered, successfully remembering only one way to cook eggs, and making it sound like more like a question than a reply. He shifted in his seat and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. He looked around the house and over to the beds where the grandparents were doing their daily reading, knitting, sitting. Grandpa George glanced over at him, and Wonka gave a polite little smile. The man just glared back, and the chocolatier's smile nervously faded away as he turned to face the table again.

Suddenly a plate was set at his place with a soft clunk. Mrs. Bucket served breakfast to the four in bed, then sat across the table from Mr. Wonka with hers. He looked down at the platter; it had sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs and a big stack of pancakes, not to mention mug of juice next to it.

_Wow, that's a lot_, he thought. But once again, his stomach grumbled, and he realized he didn't know when the last time he'd actually eaten a meal was. Even the night he'd had supper with the Buckets, he'd been too preoccupied with his anxiousness to actually _eat_, and had only played around with his stew until the meal was over. He was usually too busy, however mentally or physically, to bother with things like _eating._

His stomach grumbled again, and Wonka reluctantly gave in, carefully taking up the fork next to him. He _was_ hungry, and he probably shouldn't be going so long without food anyway. It could be unhealthy or something. Besides, what was he planning to do, stare his meal out of existence?

_Maybe. _

He cut off a bite of sausage. Mrs. Bucket poured syrup onto her pancakes, then slid the pitcher over to Wonka.

"Here you are, dear," she said as she passed it to him. He took it gingerly.

"Oh, A-and . . . Thank you," he mentioned politely, carefully nodding to his plate.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, "I _would_ like to thank you for the map, as well as the key, you sent back with Charlie, by the way. They left right out the side entrance this morning. It was more than helpful." She picked something up with her fork. Wonka grinned and looked down at his plate.

"Well, you wouldn't want to get lost in here," he said, and hesitantly put a little piece of bacon into his mouth, recalling how to chew, and doing so rather awkwardly. Mrs. Bucket laughed softly and shook her head.

"I don't know if I'd ever find my way out." _Probably not,_ thought Wonka. Imagine, if one day his heir's only mother went wandering around the factory, and all they ever found of her were her empty socks and shoes? Now how would he explain that to Charlie? He giggled under his breath.

". . . and I met one of the workers just yesterday . . ." Wonka realized she'd been talking to him and looked up. ". . . An . . . Oompa Loompa?" she asked, unsure. His eyes lit up.

"Oh, were they just _wonderful? _Brilliant little things, so very clever," he said excitedly. Mrs. Bucket grinned and scooted the food around on her plate with her fork.

"Yes . . . rather small, aren't they?" Wonka looked at her blankly for a moment, then suddenly let out a laugh.

"Well, what do you _expect_ of Oompa Loompas?" he giggled. Mrs. Bucket wasn't quite sure. "They've _gotta_ be small; how else do you think they'd be able to squeeze into those teeny weenie tree houses?"

"Tree houses?" Mrs. Bucket repeated, confused. Wonka rolled his eyes, and waved his hand like he was swatting at a fly.

"Well, not _anymore_," he said, "Now they live in towns, of course. I guess they could grow if they wanted, but the town fits them now . . . If they grew anymore, they wouldn't be able to fit in there either." Mrs. Bucket wasn't following at all, but was gaining more interest by the minute.

"Did . . . they used to live in tree houses?" she inquired. Wonka grinned even harder.

"Yah, in _Loompaland!"_ Mrs. Bucket looked at him curiously, and he continued. "Yah, well, when I found 'em in Loompaland, they had to stay away from all of those Nornwogglers and Snozzwangers and Whangdoodles and all the other nasty things that lived on the ground. So they lived in tree houses."

"How'd you know they were in Loompaland?" asked Mrs. Bucket, not taking her eyes off of Wonka as she picked something up from her plate with her fork. Wonka's face was of one who was about to be very informative, and held his fork with an entire pancake hanging from it in the air as he talked, waving it around with his explanatory gestures.

"I didn't, I went there to look for new candy flavours-" He stopped suddenly, softly smacked his lips, and looked at Mrs. Bucket. "They weren't very good." He returned to his dazzling grin. "But the Oompa Loompas made up for all that- they were my best discovery yet!"

"How'd you find them?" Mrs. Bucket asked, fascinated. So Wonka went into his fantastic tale about how he traveled to Loompaland and found the Oompa Loompas. He told about how he offered them the job, and about how they always ate green caterpillars. And he told about how all they wanted were cocoa beans and so that was how they were paid. And he told of the things he saw in the jungle while he was exploring . . .

". . . and it came whizzing right _towards me!_ So I lifted up my machete, and chucked it right through the bugger!" Wonka was now standing up out of his chair, which was askew to the side, re-enacting his slay of the Whangdoodle with an invisible blade (and an invisible Whangdoodle), as Mrs. Bucket sat in her chair listening, wide eyed like a child during story time. Wonka sat back down and nodded with distaste.

"It was pretty gross . . . and it didn't taste very good." He looked down and smacked his lips again. Mrs. Bucket let out a breath.

"Goodness," she said as she held her tea to her lips. Wonka nodded again. "Well it's certainly a miracle you're alright," she said with a relieved sounding laugh. Wonka picked up his cup.

"Huh?"

"You very well could have been killed! It's just lucky you're safe." she exclaimed, taking a sip of her tea. Wonka looked down. He never really thought of it like that. Loompaland _was_ pretty perilous, but he never thought what could have happened to him on his exploration there. He flicked on a confused little smile and took a drink.

"Weird."

"What?" she asked. Wonka swallowed, and shrugged.

"Never thought of it like that." Mrs. Bucket put her hand on her chest and let out a breath.

_"Never?"_ Wonka just shrugged again. "Well it really is to be grateful for that you're out of Loompaland and alright." She nodded. "As are the Oompa Loompas, here in the factory. They seem to like it here," she noted, stirring her tea. Wonka smiled, then hid his mouth behind a sip of juice he wasn't taking.

"How are . . . you guys liking it . . .?" he asked timidly. It wasn't something he'd planned on bringing up. In fact it was something he'd planned on _avoiding_. But he just couldn't help it; he _really_ wanted to know. Mrs. Bucket smiled and let out a deep breath.

"Oh, it's just _wonderful_, Mr. Wonka," she said as she sipped her tea. Wonka's eyes lit up.

"Really?" he said as he scooted up in his seat. Mrs. Bucket nodded and grinned.

"Remarkable," Grandma Josephine spoke up from bed.

"Incredible," added Grandpa Joe.

_"Delectable!"_ chirped in Grandma Georgina. The rest of the family just smiled and rolled their eyes at her seemingly ridiculous statement, but Wonka grinned and nodded delightedly to her. She nodded back and happily returned to her knitting.

"We're all so happy to be here," Mrs. Bucket continued. Wonka smiled and picked up his drink, trying not to show his relief.

"Oh good," he sighed. Grandpa George scooted a little higher in bed.

"Speaking of, young man," he began, "Why the change of mind?"

"'Bout what?" Wonka asked vaguely, taking a sip of orange juice. George frowned and peered at the back of the chocolatier.

"About letting Charlie's family come to the factory with him, that's what." Wonka choked into his cup. Grandpa George raised his eyebrows. "Seemed rather stuck to your decision when you made it . . ." he continued calmly. Mrs. Bucket shot a quick glare at her father, but remained quiet and sipped her tea.

Wonka swallowed, then cleared his throat and set down his mug, keeping both hands wrapped around it like it was a sippy-cup. He stuck on a fake little smile and shrugged his right shoulder, picking his cup back up again and putting it in front of his mouth.

"Charlie convinced me," he stated. He kind of tipped his head to one side like a child that's bending the truth and knows it. "I . . . bumped into him in town the other day, and decided to restate my offer . . ." Wonka took a drink so someone else could say something. Mrs. Bucket smiled and cast her father another look that read _See? Nothing wrong with that. _

"Hm." She sighed in an accepting manner, and smiled. She sipped her tea, and everything was quiet for a moment. Grandpa George continued to eye Wonka's back suspiciously, who just sat in his chair, gripping his mug and taking long-held little-gained sips from it. Mrs. Bucket suddenly set her mug back down with a soft clunk and stood up with her empty plate.

"I'll take that, dear," she said gesturing to Wonka's plate. He quickly nodded a thanks and politely slid his plate to her. He noticed, with some surprise, that is was nearly empty. He'd been hungrier than he thought. Mrs. Bucket picked it up, retrieved the empty dishes from the elders, and trotted over to the kitchen sink.

Wonka carefully stood up out of his chair and smoothed out his coat. He pushed the little wooden chair back in and turned around, wondering what he should do now. He wandered over to the center of the house near to where the old peoples' beds sat and glanced down at the floor, waiting for Charlie's mother to come back and say something. Grandpa George, who'd been watching him, finally let out a breath.

"Well, we are all happy to be here," he began respectively, "And whatever it was that brought in a new light," Wonka carefully looked up, "we are glad for it." He nodded. "No one should have to live without their family."

Wonka just stood there for a moment, then quickly nodded and pushed on a polite smile. George gave a curt little nod and went back to the book in his lap. Wonka let out a silenced sigh of relief. He looked over and noticed Mrs. Bucket in the kitchen working on the breakfast dishes. He grinned, and quickly began over.

"Oh, here! I can help with those . . ."

* * *

"'Kay, this is higher, try that one . . . yah. So this is like, C sharp or something . . .?"

"No, I think . . . G."

"Lemme see . . ." Suddenly Charlie burst through the front door, followed by his father. He hung up his coat.

"Mum, everyone, we're home!" Charlie dropped his backpack by the door, and trotted into the kitchen to see Wonka and Mrs. Bucket standing behind the counter, which had ten or twelve water glasses sitting on it. Mrs. Bucket licked her finger and slid it around the top of one, releases a soft ringing. She frowned and added more water to it from a pitcher next to her. Wonka jumped when Charlie announced himself. He quickly took his index finger off the water glass he'd been working on and cocked his head to one side.

"Charlie?" he asked perplexed, then made a face, ". . . does school end this early now and days?" Charlie looked at his watch.

"It's two fifty-three," he stated. Wonka frowned, fumbled into his coat, and pulled out his pocket watch. Two fifty four. His eyes widened. Had he been there _that long?_ Mrs. Bucket rang one of the water glasses again and smiled. She turned to Wonka.

"This is C sharp," she said. Seeming to notice her son and husband were home, she straightened up and smiled.

"Oh, hello dear." She smoothed down her apron, and began collecting the glasses off the table. Wonka released a breath and walked around the counter.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Wonka?" asked Charlie, confused. Wonka opened his mouth, but Mrs. Bucket spoke up.

"Oh, he was just waiting for you, darling," she chirped, "He was here for breakfast. We've been bustling about the house; dreadfully helpful, he is." She nodded happily and went to the dishes. Wonka smiled, then turned back to Charlie.

"Well then, ya wanna head out?" Charlie grinned, then turned to his mother when he saw her open her mouth to object.

"And I've already finished my homework," he said, "I did it in history." Mrs. Bucket gave him a quizzical look. "We never do anything in history," he giggled sheepishly as he turned back to Mr. Wonka. Wonka softly shook his head and looked down.

"Never much cared for history," he murmured with distaste, then returned to his grin. "Kay! Well- . . ." he quickly gave a little "permission-to" glance to Mrs. Bucket, who smiled and nodded. Wonka grinned again. "-Well, let's get crackin' then!" He headed over to the coat hanger and nabbed his hat, followed by Charlie and the two began talking about what their plans were for the rest of the day.

The door gave a soft slam, followed by a squeaky reopening as Wonka popped his head back in and cheerfully added, "_Thanks again for breakfast, Mrs. B.!" _followed by another gentle slam. Mrs. Bucket smiled and went back to drying the glasses. Mr. Bucket grabbed the daily newspaper and eased himself down into his armchair.

"So, eh . . . what _was_ Mr. Wonka doing here for so long . . .?" Mrs. Bucket was drying a plate.

"Oh, we just moseyed around the house, really. I-" Mrs. Bucket stopped suddenly, then turned around and saw her husband eyeing her suspiciously. _"Ooh!"_ She let out a huffy little laugh and threw the towel at him.

* * *

"D'ya think it's the flavour?"

"We should try it with strawberry pie." Charlie grabbed a graduated cylinder filled with a thick red gloop and handed it to Wonka, who took it and poured it into the concoction. They were currently in the Inventing Room working on a newest creation; Willy Wonka's Meal Gum, a little stick of gum that was a three course meal all by itself!

It would be the end of all kitchens and all cooking. Just a little strip of Wonka's magic chewing gum and that was all you will ever need at breakfast, lunch, and dinner! But there had been a small problem that Wonka just hadn't been able to figure out yet. Something always went _slightly_ wrong when it came to the dessert . . .

"Yah. . . " he said as their mixture turned a bubbly pink, "it might just be with the blueberries . . ." The two simultaneously tilted their heads to the side, looking at the concoction in thought. Charlie rubbed the back of his neck and turned to the chocolatier.

"Maybe it's the ice cream. Since it's the only thing that's frozen." Wonka's eyes lit up.

"Hey . . ." He began and he grabbed his notebook. ". . . Hey, _yah!_" he agreed as he started scribbling furiously, "Maybe it's the divergent temperatures that lob the chemical stability askew! Ya know, 'cause it's so cold 'n stuff . . ." Wonka finished writing, putting the pen to his chin, and Charlie waited to hear what he was going to say. But he didn't say anything and just looked back into the bubbling vat.

"Maybe . . ." he began, letting the word linger there. Charlie looked back into the mixture as well, putting his hands on the edge of the tub and standing on his toes so he could see better. He suddenly looked back up at Wonka.

"Maybe we should try margarine instead of butter on the potatoes?" Wonka's eyes rounded once again, and he made a face that clearly read, _Why didn't I think of that?_ as he scribbled that too down into his journal.

"Geesh, you're pretty smart for your age. Am I lucky _you_ found a Golden Ticket," he said with a light grin. Charlie smiled happily for the compliment, but shook his head.

"Mike Teavee was smarter than me-" ("Who?" asked Wonka.) "-Besides, I think I was luckier. I bought the winning chocolate bar after I found a ten dollar bill on the ground one day. I'd have never found the ticket if I hadn't." Wonka shrugged as he wrote.

"Could've bought another one?" Charlie just shook his head again.

"I could only get one a year . . . on my birthday. I really was lucky to have gotten another chance." Wonka blinked and silently mouthed the word 'birthday'. He turned to Charlie.

"Birthday?" Charlie paused for a moment, then nodded. Wonka glanced around, then back down to the little boy with a foggy look. "When was that . . .?"

Charlie counted in his head. " . . . About three weeks ago. January sixteenth. I found the ticket the day before the tour." Wonka raised his eyebrows and nodded blankly, looking back into the vat, as did Charlie. Suddenly he looked back up at Wonka.

"When's your birthday, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka opened his mouth as he picked up a test tube, but stopped midway to the bubbling pot and frowned. He stood for a moment, then, looking utterly perplexed, glanced around the room like he was doing calculations in his head.

He counted a few of his fingers, then froze for a moment. The chocolatier glanced out sideways at Charlie, and grinned with a soft, heartless laugh. He turned his attention sharply into the pot and poured in the liquid he was holding, stirring it carefully and looking very concentrated.

"Ehm . . ." He kind of tilted his head to one side as he stirred, "A-around, erm, around in a few months . . ." He let the last word linger, and Charlie stared at him.

He didn't know. Charlie looked at the floor. He didn't know? How could someone forget their own birthday? But as Charlie asked himself this, he suddenly wondered what he would do if he was ever alone on his birthday. Nothing. Willy Wonka had been, besides his little workers, alone for the past _fifteen years_. Not much reason to celebrate something, especially your birthday, by yourself. That explained it. He wondered what the chocolatier did about other things like that; holidays, _Christmas?_ Did he even remember holidays? The oompa loompas didn't celebrate holidays. Not the human ones, anyway.

Charlie glanced back up at Wonka and felt a pang of repent shoot through him. He may have only gotten a single chocolate bar for his birthday every year, but at least he had one to begin with, along with people who counted down the days with him. Wonka was still stirring the life out of their mixture in silence, and Charlie, once again, thought it best to drop the subject. He reached over, picked up a test tube, and read the label.

"Here's the roast beef," he said as he handed it up to Wonka. The chocolatier looked down and took it with a grin. He poured it into the mixture, and it fizzed and popped and sparked and ended with a little poof of smoke, causing the two to take a little jump back. Wonka smiled and brushed off his hands.

"Well," he said, letting out a breath, "now it's gotta sit for a couple hours . . ." He began walking in another direction. Charlie trotted behind him.

"How come?"

Wonka faltered in his steps, paused, then continued walking. "You know, you should really speak up, my dear boy, you're voice is so quiet I can barely hear a word you're saying." Charlie continued behind the man at a quick pace.

"Mr. Wonka, where are we going?" he asked. Wonka glanced back at the little kid behind him, and suddenly felt a vibe of unfamiliarity run through him. Boy, was it going to feel odd having someone following him around and having to explain things to from now on. But Wonka smiled nonetheless, and slowed down just a smidge so the breathless boy could keep up.

"Well, where do you wanna go?" he asked Charlie as he gradually halted. "I know there're still lots of things you haven't seen in the Inventing Room. Take a pick, we can mess around a bit!" There was an almost eerie gleam of excitement in his voice. Charlie looked around the room. The machines were just so complex and strange, he had trouble deciding where one ended and another began, let alone picking one. Suddenly he heard a muffled little squeal from behind him.

"Wait, _no!_ I know!" Wonka started, an enormous grin on his face. He bounced. "Just _you_ go mess around!" he made a shooing motion with his hands to Charlie. "Go on! Go . . . _play!"_ Charlie cocked his head to one side, about to ask what on Earth Mr. Wonka meant, but before he could, the chocolatier quickly waltzed away and up to another machine across the room. He picked up a wrench and twiddled it pointlessly in the air, then put his hand to his mouth.

"I'll be right over here!" he called, waving the wrench in the air, perhaps thinking it made him look like he was doing something. Then he turned back around and began inspecting the mechanism in front of him. Charlie watched him for a moment, but when he didn't look back, turned back around himself, hesitantly walking towards some of the other inventions.

Mr. Wonka said to _play?_ Well, Charlie wasn't sure he should . . . _play_ in a room like this (In fact most adults would tell you _not_ to play, touch, _breathe_ in a room like this!) but he decided to do as he was told and 'mess around'. He began towards the different gadgets, all tinkering and tankering on their wheels and doing whatever they were made to do. Suddenly something went flying over his head, and he ducked just a bit to dodge it. He looked back up and saw it had been some sort of swinging claw that rotated over and dumped little multi-coloured spheres into a yellow ooze filled tub with a plop-plop-plop-plop-plop!

Charlie walked up to a smaller invention. It was simple, small enough that Charlie could look down at its top, shaped sort of like a pear, and only had one button, a big shiny blue one. Charlie pressed the button with his palm, then noticed, as the little thing made a burping noise, a metal tube that went out from the back of it. He followed it up with his eyes, until he was looking straight up where it ended in a box that opened up and dumped out a flurry of white dust.

Charlie rubbed the powdered sugar off his eyes and blinked them open. He heard a distant laugh, and looked over to see Willy Wonka quickly turn back around to face the machine he was in front of. He transformed his giggle into a phony little cough, hesitated, then rotated something with his wrench.

Charlie smiled, rubbing the powder off his face with his sweater, then shook it out of his hair and quickly moved from underneath the machine. He brushed the remaining sugar off his shoulder, then glanced over and noticed a different machine across the room with lots of levers and knobs on it. He curiously made his way over.

It had lots of levers and knobs indeed. There were knobs and buttons and switches and keys and levers and handle and bars and pedals and anything and everything you'd ever need for any and every sort of machinery. Charlie looked at all of them with interest, then back at Wonka across the room, who was still messing around with his gadget, turning things here and there with the wrench he held. The boy faced back to the machine, and slowly reached out and pressed a red button. The machine gave a little groan and whiz, and some bubbles gurgled their way around inside a transparent part of its body, but nothing else happened.

Charlie tilted his head to the side, and punched another button. A few lights flashed, and he flicked a different switch. Pretty soon he was simply having fun activating all the little knobs to see what each did in reaction to the other, keeping the machine whizzing and whirling and flashing different colours. Charlie punched and twisted, then reached up and pulled down a big lever on the side. Suddenly the machine began to vibrate.

The boy took a step away from the enormous device as it continued to tremble and flash and make more ruckus than a baby elephant that's been spanked. It popped and cracked and banged and battered. It shook and shivered and quivered and quaked. It whirled and whistled and whizzed and fizzed. It burst and blazed and flared and flickered and flashed so much Charlie thought he might need a pair of goggles so he wouldn't go blind. He was sure it was going to explode, if anything ever was, when it suddenly stopped altogether, allowing him to look at it without needing to shield his eyes. It droned down to a soft buzz.

The buzz turned into a hum, the hum into a rattling, and the rattling eventually down to a gentle click as a little ball about the size of a grape rolled into a slot at the bottom of the machine. Charlie peered through the light cloud of smoke that had been given off during the commotion, and nearly had a heart attack when Mr. Wonka, who he thought had still been across the room working on that same contraption, brushed out from behind him and towards the now calm machine. He watched as Wonka reached down and delicately picked up the small sphere from inside the slot, then turned back to face him with a bright smile.

"Congratulations, Charlie . . ." he said with glee as he dropped the little ball into the boy's palm. Charlie looked from Wonka down to the tiny orb that had just come into existence. It had a red, green, and brown plaid design, and a warm sensation as it rested in Charlie palm. The boy looked back up at Wonka, who grinned even more excitedly.

" . . . You've just created your first candy."

* * *

Charlie and Wonka walked down from the Great Glass Elevator towards the Bucket house. The evening was beautiful. The pink and orange light from the sunset outside peaked through the few windows of the chocolate room ceiling, meeting wonderfully with the grass below. The house in the center made a lovely sight with the dawning night's glow. Charlie Bucket held a tight grip on a small candy happily, and, for the first time, Willy Wonka was working to keep up with someone else's pace.

The door to the little house opened up as Mrs. Bucket came out, having seen them through the window, and waved to the couple with one hand, holding a few heads of cabbage in the other. Charlie grinned and dashed up to her.

"Mum, _look!_" He skid to a stop on the doorstep, and proudly held up the little sweet that had been created that day in between his thumb and forefinger. She took it and examined it cheerfully as Charlie began the explanation.

". . . and it kept flashing, but then this popped out!" Mrs. Bucket was listening intently, and ruffled her son's hair affectionately when he was through.

"Sounds like an adventure, _I'll say!"_ she chuckled. Mr. Bucket came out, and the little boy had another gleeful chance to initiate his tale of the day. Mr. Bucket wrapped his arm around his wife as their son talked.

So the three talked happily, and Willy Wonka watched from his distance. He giggled softly at Charlie's excitement, remembering he'd been the same exact way when he made _his_ first candy, only having no one to tell, had simply pranced about in all his glory till more ado. He smiled, then looked down at the verdant ground and turned to leave. Mr. Bucket ruffled his son's hair as the boy darted into his house to inform the remaining family members of his accomplishment. Mrs. Bucket smiled and began in, but turned back around and noticed the chocolatier.

"Oh, Mr. Wonka?" she called with a smile. He turned halfway around at the sound of his name. "Will you . . . stay for supper?" she asked hopefully.

"Well I . . ." Wonka paused, looking towards the cold, clear glass doors of the elevator. He opened his mouth, but hesitated and looked down, after a moment, turning back to face the house and the remaining occupant in front of it.

" . . . Kay."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Alright, well ya all know it took me FOREVER to get this chapter up, so there's no use in saying so.

_"What about the fifth, what happened to him_?-": Now, if you think about it, they wouldn't know yet, would they? I know in the book, the reporters came and they couldn't get them out of their house till midnight but this story is based off the movie, which is a bit different, no matter how true it is. (I mean, in the book Wonka had a goatee. . . O.o)1. The only people who had seen him with the ticket were that guy and gal in the candy store, and the shopkeeper, none who knew his name. Then Charlie ran home. 2. The tour was the next morning, so, even with the fact no one knew, there wasn't any time to interview Charlie. 3. All the ticket winners were standing in front of the gate the next day, so no one would have seen their faces. And 4. The Bucket's really didn't have any friends or neighbors, so when their house moved, no one would have noticed.

_Violet's Aftermath:_ There's more to come of the rest of the kids before long. Please tell me what you thought of hers, please please please, so I can work out the others. Please?

_ ". . . and it came whizzing right towards me! So I lifted up my machete, and chucked it right through the bugger!":_ Kay, this is about me, not the story, but OH MY GOOOOSH I had my own encounter with, I swear to you, a _Whangdoodle._ I was home alone, was talking to my friend on the phone, who heard the whole thing. There was this huuuuuge thing on the wall, we're not even sure it was a bug it was so big, it looked just like a Whangdoodle. I picked up a broom to kill it, _but it came whizzing right towards me!_ I swung at it, and actually hit it, but it just hit the wall behind me and flew back up and perched on the original wall. I at last had to take this long stick thing that was being used to build a bookshelf and stab it right in the middle! It wouldn't die! And I tried poison and everything! I finally had to just skewer it, and it slowly _sloooowly_ died. And get this; Its insides were, swear to you, _green_. I was tempted to lick my machete- I mean broom.

_Mrs. Bucket licked her finger and slid it around the top of one, releases a soft ringing:_ This was how I spent my time at all the after parties and rehearsal dinners of my cousin's wedding over last weekend. I played Wonka's Welcome Song one night. Oh, it was fuuun.

_Charlie's Birthday:_ That is accurate. Charlie Bucket's birthday is the sixteenth of January. I did my research. So you can all mark that on your calendars.

Chapter 5 Preview: A little later on, as everything is progressing. Things are clearing up. Charlie gets a bit of an ouch . . .


	5. A Visit to the Tooth Fairy

Miya Sparrow: Me? Remind you of Willy? **:blushes and fluffs up hair:** So I've been told . . . hahahahaa just kidding . . . Though I suppose that is a high compliment, in our case, so thank you! **:tips hat (she happens to be wearing):** . . . I'm soooo excited you liked it! And I'm already really excited that the movie is coming out in

**2 DAAAAAYYYYYYYYYSSSSSSS**

So I hope I don't have a spaz attack of a seizure or something. O.o I'm so glad you're liking it though. I have to say I absolutely looove writing it! Know why? KNOW WHY? Because it's just a follow up on the movie! Just like you said! Yah! After I saw it, all I craved was more of the movie, and all the time I'd be thinking up things that could have happened after we left off, and then this story just popped up! I'm glad you liked that idea too. . . And yah, I always thought Violet kind of learned something. She seemed to be just happy that she was so flexible. But the others (with the exception of Mike; he didn't say anything) were still the same and their p-m_b_hh- . . . **:gulp:** m-Mmoms and dads . . . were the ones who learned something. But even if their kids didn't, I think they'll be able to teach 'em a thing or two now . . .

Utou: Wow, you have absolutely no idea how good that made me feel! I'm so sorry you had to make an account to review my story; I didn't even know I had that on! I changed it now, so anyone can review- And yah, the title wasn't really a title (at least I have one now), and it sounded a little nOObish because, go figure, I'm kinda a noob. (quick question; is there a difference between noob and newbie. . .? **:nervous giggle:**) But thank you soooooo much, utou! Really, that made me feel so good! Yes, I looooove using wacky wild weird way out off the wall words in my stories! It's sooo fun and alliterational! And it's such a relief to hear Wonka is in-character. **:phew:** I'm always worried I'm doing too much or too little or simply something he wouldn't do at all when I write, so it's such liberation to know when I do well with that. Thanks so much, you deserve all the Wonka bars in the world! (and trust me, a review is NEVER too long)

Demidevil: That was YOU? _YOU_ sent that nasty little Whangdoodle thing over here? **:glare:** Well, you're just lucky I liked your review or I'd have to sick my pet _Lollydoodle_ on you. By the way, though, thanks for being such a great reviewer this whole time. It's nice to see a review from you every time I check in . . .

Boogle: (I love your name. Boooogle, it's so fun to say) Thanks a bunch, and I love the "bless". **:giggle:** Not cuz I'm like super religious or anything like that, I dunno why I liked it. I'm just easily pleased I guess. (Oh my gosh, I just read your bio and you're my age and you like Outkast and Maroon 5 too and your from England AHAHHHH GO ENGLAND!)

**:giggle:** Woot!

Thanks, you guys, this really helps since I'm kinda new to this. You're the best. **:hugs and candy: **

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**Chapter 5**

**A Visit to the Tooth Fairy **

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Squeak squeak squeak.

". . . And on June 6, 1944, General Eisenhower led his troops through the English Channel in Operation Overlord. . ."

Squeak squeak squeak.

". . . Normandy, to free France from German rule. . ."

Squeak squeak squeak.

". . . the Battle of Midway took place, where the Japanese navy. . ."

Squeak squeak squeak.

". . . four carriers, crippling their forces, and marking. . ."

Squeak squeak squeak squeak.

". . . and marking. . ."

Squeak squeak squeak.

Miss Macintosh frowned and turned around to her class. "Who's doing that?" she asked, eyeing them with mild suspicion. All the students looked up from their notes curiously. The teacher put her hands on her hips, and everyone looked down at their pens and pencils, testing them on their papers. Miss Macintosh frowned again, then turned around and slid her diminishing stub of chalk on the board. It produced a light squeaking. She sighed and rubbed her temple.

"Dear. . ." she muttered to herself. She turned back around and opened her desk drawer, fumbling through its messy inside, then stood back up. She waved her hand vaguely at the class, her other hand on her forehead. "Here, um . . . who's that in the back, Charlie Bucket?" she addressed, squinting over her spectacles. The small boy near the back of the room looked up.

"Mum'?" The teacher nodded and gestured towards the door.

"Yes, could you run over to the supply room across the building and fetch me a new box of chalk?" Charlie nodded.

"Yes Mum'," he said as he closed his notebook and stood up with his jacket to carefully make his way through the desks and out the door. Charlie softly shut it behind him, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and started down the corridor. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, and left a shuffling sound bouncing off the walls. Charlie took his hands back out of his pockets, breathed into them and rubbed them together, then placed them back in. The school's heating had blown a fuse the other day, and many of the students had begun to claim they saw it snowing down by the nurse's room.

The weather outside had indeed been dire lately for early March, and indoors without heating wasn't much better. His mother had continued her usual bundling him up with layers and layers of clothing for his walks to and from school; the one time Charlie had objected to dressing up like an Eskimo every day, Mrs. Bucket had told him she was sure his nose would fall right off it didn't warm up. But this hadn't occurred yet, so Charlie didn't have much else to worry about.

The students weren't allowed to wear their coats in the classroom, so Charlie was truthfully grateful he had an excuse to move around and get his circulation flowing again, if his blood hadn't already frozen in his body. He stopped at an intersection in the hallway, rubbed his hands together again, then went to the left. He'd take the long way.

Charlie didn't know how his family would have survived such a bitter climate before. Their old living status had served them well in the summer, when it was warm and the comfortable breeze that drifted through the occasional holes in the walls was happily welcomed. But after the last autumn leaf fell to the ground, and the breeze turned rigid, comfort was difficult to come by. There were winters when the family was sure their little dollhouse-like home would shatter into a million pieces if one more gust of wind hit against their thin ramparts. Charlie smiled a little to himself; Mr. Wonka had gotten there just in time.

Just a few weeks ago had Charlie and his family moved into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, and what a few weeks it had been! This little boy was now beginning to realize how incredible, implausible, inconceivable, unimaginable, extraordinary, and truly amazing the factory was. What he'd seen on the tour hadn't been a fraction of the wonders it held inside. And, as Mr. Willy Wonka's official heir, it was now for him to see it all.

Over the past few weeks, the chocolatier and his heir had sowed the jelly beanstalks, shot stars in their pies, charged the electric buns, straightened out the sweets to be wriggled, wound up the whizzdoodles, pollinated the honeycombs and brushes, and only seen a corner of the factory. Mr. Wonka had certainly been right when he said there was more to see than just the rooms on the buttons in the Great Glass Elevator (and there were quite a lot of buttons).

At first Charlie had simply been in awe of it all. Now, that awe had been set aside in his mind and all he thought was, "What now, Mr. Wonka?" He couldn't wait to see it all. Every day he was always at the door in an instant when he heard the familiar rap! rap! rap! behind it. That was when the boy's day really began.

Charlie stopped in front of the supply room's closed doorway and read the messily written sign on the front.

**Supply Room closed.**

**Go to teacher's lounge.**

Charlie peeked through the door's dark window and saw the supply closet empty. Saving money, he supposed. He'd rather have a heating system than new school supplies anyway. He turned around and started down the hallway to the right towards the teacher's lounge. He got to the door, and it was slightly cracked open. There were a few people inside talking.

". . . to heat the building!"

"I know . . . the company we get them from has stopped. I don't know why."

"I heard they've temporarily gone out of business because the industry they get the wood to make their books and paper and pencils has stopped producing."

"Well they should get a new industry to get _it_ from!-" Charlie gently knocked on the door, and the voices stopped. There was a pause. "Yes?" one said, and Charlie opened the door.

"Miss Macintosh sent me for a box of chalk," he said quietly. One of the teachers at the table sighed and rocked back in their chair. He swung open a rickety little cabinet behind him and pulled out a box, then leaned his chair back to the ground and handed it to Charlie. "Thank you," Charlie said politely, and walked back out the door, closing it softly behind him. Just before it clicked shut, Charlie overheard a grumpy voice say, "I swear, if they don't get more supplies to sell and pay for some blasted heat, I'm doing something about it myself!"

Charlie began walking down the arctic hallway once again, gripping the little box of chalk in his whitely cold hand. He had wondered why the supplies had gone so low. No wonder the school was so cold. Charlie stopped suddenly and looked at his watch; he'd been gone far too long, class would be nearly over by now. He let out a breath and shuffled down the hallway, skidding at the corner and running down the next. He shouldn't have taken the long way to the supply closet.

Charlie suddenly stumbled, but caught himself and kept going. He looked down and saw that one of his shoes were untied. He'd get to that once he was back in class. He knew it'd be a mistake to make Miss Macintosh wait any longer; she was probably already disgruntled that he'd taken this long. Charlie was in the middle of scolding himself when a sudden "Look _OUT!"_ brought his attention up from his shoes to the door that swung open in front of his face-

**_SLAM! _**

**_

* * *

_**

Rap rap rap.

No answer.

Rap rap rap.

No answer. There was a pause.

Rap, rap rap rap, rap. . . Rap! Rap!

Shuffling was heard from inside the little Bucket house, and suddenly there came a painful sounding squeak, followed by, "Come in!" Willy Wonka entered the cottage cautiously. Mr. Bucket was holding a tray of ice behind his wife, and Mrs. Bucket was hovering over the chair where Charlie sat, holding an ice-filled towel and a hand full of cotton wads. She looked up at Wonka and sighed.

"Oh, hello Mr. Wonka," she said wearily, then glanced over at Charlie, grabbing a handful of tissue and stuffing it into his hand. Wonka tilted his head like one does when looking under a table, and raised an eyebrow as he cautiously came forward. Charlie was holding the cotton that filled his mouth in place. Wonka gave a very perplexed look to the boy's mother.

"Charlie's jammed his mouth," she sighed in dismay, then looked down at him with curiosity. "Apparently he ran into a door. . ." Charlie blushed. Wonka tried to hide a stubborn smile, and Mrs. Bucket continued. "Mr. Bucket was called at work and brought him home from school a bit early. His teacher was full of apologies . . . as she seems to be the one who opened the door." She put her hands on her waist. "We still haven't been able to figure why he was running, though." Charlie worked his jaw and made a noise around the cotton. Mrs. Bucket looked back up to Wonka. "He hasn't been able to talk." Charlie worked his jaw again.

"Muuuhfffnm, iii'shhf phhffiinnmmg." Mrs. Bucket pulled the cotton out of his mouth. He swallowed. "It's fine, mum, I-" His mother cut him off by grabbing onto his jaw and craning it open to look inside. She stood back up and picked up the towel of ice.

"The bleeding's stopped at least." Wonka made an unsettled feeling face. Mrs. Bucket laid the pack ice onto her son's jaw, and he held it in place. She released a breath and turned to the table behind her. "He's lost a tooth, though." Wonka's eyes widened. "Just a baby one," she assured as she pointed to her cheek, "Right in back. He was going to loose it anyway, it was just knocked out a bit sooner." She held up a little plate from on the table with a small white tooth resting on it, then set it back down. Mr. Bucket turned to her.

"We really should have this checked though, dear," he said. Mrs. Bucket nodded, and Wonka carefully made his way to the table where the little plate sat. He bent down and looked at the tooth on it, curiously plucking it up with his fingertips, and turning it around for inspection. Mrs. Bucket continued to her husband.

"A doctor will do I suppose, even if it isn't major. Just to make sure everything's in order."

"But for teeth, dear? I don't know where we might find a dentist . . ."

"What about Doctor Wonka?" asked Charlie suddenly, having taken the ice out of his mouth. Wonka abruptly dropped the little tooth back onto the plate with a tink.

"_Huh?"_ Charlie spared a quick glance to the wide eyed chocolatier, then looked back to his mother.

"Mr. Wonka's father. He's a dentist." Mrs. Bucket smiled interestedly and looked over at Wonka.

"Oh is he, Mr. Wonka? I didn't know that." Wonka looked to her and gave a quick pretend smile that quickly wore away as she turned back around to her husband.

"Well why not him, since he's a dentist? He'll know if there's anything to be done with Charlie and his tooth here." Mr. Bucket nodded then looked to Wonka.

"How's that then, sir. How far does he live?"

"We can use the elevator, dad. It has a button for his house," noted Charlie. Mrs. Bucket smiled.

"Oh, splendid! Can you take us there, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka opened his mouth, then after a moment let out a breath.

"Yah . . . sure." He echoed from the last time the subject came up. He turned around and started out the door, leaving the Buckets slightly confused by his manner. It swung shut behind him, and he made his way around to the little patch of grass in front of the house. He swallowed a gulp of air and cleared his throat. Wonka wasn't sure he wanted to go back to see his dad; he wasn't sure it was such a good idea. . .

But he'd already been through that once with himself, and telling himself it again wouldn't do any good. Nobody liked to be lectured, especially not Willy Wonka, and Willy Wonka knew that. It'd be better to tell himself to think on the positive side. Wonka would listen to himself when it was about something good. So the positive side it was; . . . he'd get some fresh air, some chance to go outside . . . though he didn't really like it outside, but it was probably good for him or something. He'd get to go in the elevator. That was always fun. He'd get to push the Up and Out button again! Yah! That was always lots of-

Oh, why did Charlie have to go and knock out his gosh darned tooth? If he wasn't his only heir, Wonka would go and teach him a thing or two about knocking people's teeth out. You can't just go around doing that! Especially not to yourself! That didn't even make any sense! But Wonka sighed, supposing it wasn't really Charlie's fault he ran into a door. It's easy to run into things when you don't realize they're there . . .

"Mr. Wonka?" called Mrs. Bucket from the back door. Wonka looked over and smiled mildly.

"Yah! Heh . . . coming . . ." He got over to the three and let out a breath, smiling brilliantly. There was a hesitation. Finally he let out another little laugh of a breath. "Well then . . . shall we?" He nodded to the elevator across the room and began towards it, closely followed.

When they reached the doors, Wonka tapped the button on the front and they slid open. He waltzed in, as did the others behind him. When inside, the doors closed, and Mr. and Mrs. Bucket were left to inspect all the buttons on the wall.

"Goodness, there's quite a lot in the factory," said Charlie's mother with interest. Wonka reached over to the wall, but suddenly stopped. He bent down a bit.

"Hey Charlie, you wanna push it?" he whispered with an excited little grin. Charlie smiled and reached to the button panel, punching the one that read "Up and Out". Mrs. Bucket looked down at her son.

"Now where does that one take us to?" Charlie grinned and looked through the ceiling as the elevator lurched up.

"Hold on," he said softly, and Wonka giggled.

The Great Glass Lift soared upwards, gaining speed as it went. Mrs. Bucket stumbled back a little towards her husband.

"Certainly is going fast," she laughed mildly. Wonka kept his head up, but glanced at Mrs. Bucket out of the corner of his eye.

"Well it's got to be, or we'd never make it through," he said pointedly.

"Through what?" asked Mrs. Bucket. There was a silence when Wonka didn't respond. Mr. Bucket looked up, then back down at the glowing chocolatier.

"You . . . don't mean . . ." he stopped short.

"Uh huh . . ." Wonka giggled. Charlie's parents gawked at him.

"You can't possibly mean through the _ceiling?_" Mrs. Bucket asked horrified. The elevator gained speed. Wonka just giggled again, still gazing upwards, his bright smile flashing from the passing light around them. Charlie tugged on his mother's sleeve, and she looked down at him wide eyed, pulling Mr. Bucket down a little with her. She had taken up clutching his arm like it was the only thing holding her above a lake of snapping crocodiles.

"Don't worry, mum," Charlie said softly with a smile, "Mr. Wonka knows what he's doing." Wonka glanced down at Charlie, then back up and smiled. Mrs. Bucket opened her mouth but said nothing, and looked back up, obviously terrified.

The elevator rushed up, up, up, as it neared the ceiling! The air around the vehicle blew by loudly, and as it got to the top and broke through the glass with a **C_RAS_SH!**, a squeak was heard from Wonka and a petrified gasp from Mrs. Bucket. The ceiling shattered and the elevator broke through, soaring high into the sky where it reached its peaked, stopped for an instant, then began colliding back down towards the earth!

"Charlie, push it!" called the grinning Wonka over the rush of the falling lift. Charlie quickly punched the button again, and the elevator came to an almost immediate halt in the air, right above the factory's chimney. Mrs. Bucket, who'd covered her eyes and buried herself in her husband's chest, peered through her fingertips at their new view. Her eyes were seen to widen through their peering window, and she squeaked another gasp, quickly retreating back into her husband's chest. Wonka released a sigh, still grinning.

"Well, that was fun!" he said delightedly after a moment. There was pause.

"Mr. Wonka?"

"Huh?" Wonka asked, glancing down at the boy. Charlie looked at the button panel, then back to the chocolatier. Wonka glanced over at the panel, then frowned.

"Oh . . . yah . . ." He carefully made his way towards the elevator wall, giving a mild little smile to the others, then letting it fade rather anxiously as he turned back to the controls. He squeezed his fist, producing a rubbery squeak, and singled out a button that read,

**Repressed Memories**

He turned around and moved back to his personal corner of the elevator as the lift rumbled and began on its way through the sky.

* * *

When the three Buckets and Mr. Willy Wonka reached their destination, out in the middle of a vacant snow covered land, the Great Glass Elevator softly began its way to the ground. The place was utterly empty and white, besides the little house they were landing in front of. It was an unusual little square of a home, much like a townhouse, and the sides looked like they'd had larger pieces of house sliced from them; they were dreadfully unfinished.

Through the long ride, Charlie had listened to the discrete squeaking of Mr. Wonka's gloves as he unsuccessfully tried to squeeze water out of his cane. It hadn't stopped yet either. In fact it had become a little more desperate sounding. Charlie glanced up. He paused, then every so gently nudged the man next to him. Wonka swayed from the gentle touch, blinked, then carefully looked down to Charlie. Charlie looked back up with those same big green eyes. Wonka looked back up at the glass in front of him, hesitated, then let out a breath. A deep calming breath that had helped him in other cases such as this. It hadn't failed him yet (or so he liked to believe).

He nodded to nothing in particular, then pressed the button to open the doors once the lift had landed. They slid opened, and Wonka brushed out. The Buckets did the same, and quickly wrapped their coats closer against their bodies as a bitter wind blew against them. The followed Wonka up on the doorstep. The chocolatier somehow managed to shift behind the rest of the group once in front of the door, so by the gold plate on the wall that read the residence, Mrs. Bucket was left to make their presence known.

Knock knock knock.

Silence. Mr. Bucket then noticed the doorbell and pointed it out to his wife.

Bu_zzzzzzzz_ . . .

Still silence. The three Buckets exchanged glances.

Suddenly the door eased open, and a tall man in a white coat stood in the doorway. He had a clean-cut pallid beard, dark, intelligent eyes, and a horridly serious posture. He raised his eyebrows to the visitors.

"Do you have an appointment?" came his deep booming voice in the mildly polite way it could come. Mrs. Bucket smiled kindly.

"No, but uhm . . ."

"Hi dad," came a small voice from behind the group. Wonka peeked through the other heads and waved a purple gloved hand next to his cheek. Dr. Wonka peered at the goggled man in the back curiously. His eyes widened just a bit.

"Willy! Come in, come in," he said as he ushered them all inside. They all hung up their coats on the wooden hanger next to the door, as well as Wonka took off his dark glasses and blinked. Dr. Wonka walked over to his son and slapped him strongly on the back. Wonka "oOmph"ed.

"Well aren't you a site for sore eyes?" said Dr. Wonka with what may have been his personal version of a smile. Wonka smiled softly.

"Yah . . ." Dr. Wonka straightened up.

"What can I do for you, son?" Wonka breathed out a timid giggle, opened his mouth, then did it again. He cleared his throat, and nodded to the people standing in the entryway.

"Well um . . . t-these are the Buckets . . . dad . . . You remember Charlie . . .?" he shot the attention towards the small boy. Dr. Wonka squinted at him.

"Ah yes," he said with recognition, "You're the lad that was here with Willy on his last visit." Charlie smiled politely, and Wonka's father looked up at the two adults behind him. "You must be his parents, is that right?" Mrs. Bucket smiled in the same polite manner. Dr. Wonka looked back at his son. "I assume everything turned out well with the apprenticeship offer after all, then?" Wonka grinned nervously, his pearly-white teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"Yah . . . it . . . it did . . ." He tried to straighten himself up in the same serious manner as his father, but only achieved in making himself seem even slimmer and more swaying underneath his elegant red frock coat. "But er, dad, the reason we're here is because Charlie here," he nodded to Charlie, "knocked one of his baby teeth out a little early. . . I mean I guess you can't really knock a tooth out too early or too late, ya really shouldn't knock it out at all! I guess. . ." Wonka giggled nervously. Dr. Wonka raised his eyebrows and looked to Charlie interestedly.

"Did he, now?"

"Y-yup!" Wonka made a spiraling gesture from his mouth. "Popped right out!" Dr. Wonka frowned, then began down the hallway and into his dental office.

"Well follow me, then, all of you . . ." he said as he led them down the teal coloured corridor. Once inside his work space, he gestured for Charlie to sit in the patients' chair as he stretched on some white dental gloves. He pulled a lever and the chair thunked back awkwardly.

"Well then," he said as he switched on a light above Charlie's head, "Let's see the damage . . ." Charlie carefully opened his mouth, allowing Dr. Wonka to peer in. The older man emitted a series of "Hm" "Uhuh" "Ah" to be heard as he inspected the boy's teeth, then stood back up and turned to his parents who were waiting by the doorway.

"It has been knocked rather sharply from its socket," he said as he adjusted his gloves. "No need to worry though. I'll just need to make sure the adult tooth coming in is alright, and clean it out." He nodded, then suddenly raised his eyebrows and pulled off his gloves. "Oh, but before I do, would anyway care for some tea? There's some on the stove right now . . . And you may sit in the living room while you wait, it's much more pleasant in there . . ." He led them back down the hall, and Mrs. Bucket quickly waved to her son before she followed.

Mr. and Mrs. Bucket sat down on a comfortable davenport in the middle of Dr. Wonka's large living room. Wonka, who'd remained silent and very nearly unseen during this amount of time, slowly eased his way into an arm chair that sat to the side of the sofa.

"Oh," Mrs. Bucket said gratefully as Wonka's father returned with a tray of tea, setting it down carefully on the table in front of them. "Thank you so much Dr. Wonka. This is lovely." Dr. Wonka nodded well naturedly.

"I should be done with your son shortly." He then departed back to his work room. When he got in, Charlie was waiting patiently in the same chair, looking around the room. The doctor let out a breath.

"Well then, let's see." He slid his gloves back on and Charlie leaned back in his chair and opened his mouth. Dr. Wonka picked up a little magnifying glass from the tray next to him and peered into the boy's mouth. His eye looked five times bigger through the glass. "Quite a jam, wasn't it?" Charlie made a little noise in reply. Dr. Wonka moved away from his mouth and got out a pad and pen as he started writing things down. "And eh, how may I ask did this occur?"

Charlie smiled sheepishly and looked down. "I forgot to look where I was going and ran into something." Dr. Wonka made a face.

"A sharp something, or a heavy something . . ."

"A door," Charlie confirmed. "It swung open in front of me."

"Ahh . . ." Dr. Wonka continued to scribble, then set down his pen. "And did you find the tooth?" Charlie reached into his pocket, searched about for a moment, then pulled out a little tissue and handed it to the doctor. The man unfolded it and took out the baby tooth. He picked up his glasses and set them on his nose, squinting at the little molar. "Well it didn't chip or break, it came out wholly, which means it was close time to coming out anyway. Shouldn't make too much of a difference in the way the next tooth will come in."

Dr. Wonka wrote something else in his book, and then opened a drawer from the table next to him. He closed it and opened another under it, pulling out a white little plastic case. He wrapped the tooth back up in the tissue and put it in the little box, then handed it back to Charlie who thanked him and pocketed it. The older man went back to the table and picked up a small tube.

"Now, I'm going to clean it out," he said as he flicked a switch and the tube began to buzz, "with a little water and sanitizer . . ." He turned a knob and the tube buzzed louder. Charlie squirmed slightly. Dr. Wonka noticed and chuckled.

"Now hold still, lad," he said as he came towards the boy's mouth. "This won't hurt a bit . . ."

* * *

Dr. Wonka's living room was quite roomy for such a seemingly small, not to mention oddly built, little home. The walls were vertically striped with a couple simple colours, and there was a desk in the left hand corner on the other side of the room. Next to the desk, directly across from them was a blazing fireplace. Its mantle was a beautiful old antique type, and there was an elegant rug that spread from the tip of the fireplace to the tip of the settee.

Wonka looked around timidly. Mrs. Bucket scooted the tea tray in front of them across the table towards Wonka.

"Mr. Wonka?" she offered. He looked at her, then to the tea. He mildly shook his hand in front of it, then went back to looking around the long since seen room. Mrs. Bucket paused. "Are you alright?" she asked suddenly. Wonka's heart gave a little jump. He quickly looked at her, and she looked back curiously. After a hesitation, the chocolatier carefully nodded. She leaned back. "It's only you just seemed rather . . ." she rolled her eyes and swatted her hand in the air with a little smile.

"Never mind." She turned to her husband. "Tea dear?" Mr. Bucket took a cup. The three were silent for a moment as they sipped on the steaming drink. Mrs. Bucket sighed and leaned back. "This really is kind of your father to see us on such short notice, Mr. Wonka." Wonka didn't say anything, but answered with a lopsided little nod. "Now he says Charlie was with you the last time you came to visit, is that right?" Wonka frowned and looked down. Oh, that was right. He'd forgotten Charlie was there . . . he must have left the room shortly after the entered . . .

"That must be what he was talking about during our move," she said to her husband with gentle realization. Wonka carefully looked up. "He explained the whole lot when we were moving into the factory a while ago, but I must say, it was rather difficult to understand." She chuckled and sipped her tea. Wonka put on a mildly painful smile and leaned back in the chair, releasing a breath. The three were silent for a moment again, the couple on the sofa taking in the setting around them.

"Certainly is a lovely home," Mr. Bucket commented as he sipped his tea. Mrs. Bucket looked over to Wonka with interest.

"Yes, why such an odd location, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka glanced up.

"Dad just likes his privacy I guess . . ." he replied in a voice that was barely audible. He looked back down at the floor. There was a pause.

"Hhm," Mrs. Bucket sighed quietly in response, and sipped her tea. "Mustn't get much business out here then, I imagine."

"Though people have probably come to realize that the_ Doctor_ Wonka would be related to _Willy_ Wonka," Mr. Bucket said, nodding towards the man in the armchair. Bucket grinned and poured herself some more tea.

"Yes, that would make up for his location," she laughed. Wonka looked up, slightly confused.

"I assume that would get him a little publicity, being family related to such a celebrity. He must be very proud to be the father of the infamous Willy Wonka." She smiled and sipped her tea. There was a hesitation in the air.

"Really." asked Wonka, fairly unsure of what she meant. Mrs. Bucket gave him a quizzical look.

"Well of course, Mr. Wonka. Why wouldn't he?"

"Dad hates candy," he said blankly. But Mrs. Bucket just waved her hand in the air.

"Well he's a dentist, I wouldn't be surprised," she laughed. "The contrary occupations are rather interesting . . . but that doesn't mean he's not proud of you. You being such a success, I can't see how he wouldn't be." She sipped her tea again, and Wonka gazed at the floor thoughtfully. He shifted in his chair. Mrs. Bucket paused.

"Wouldn't you think so?" Wonka looked back up at her and, to her surprise, shook his head. She looked at him inquiringly. Wonka's eyes widened.

"Dad _hates_ candy. He always has. I wasn't supposed to have any when I was a kid, and if it were up to him, I still wouldn't," he said with one breath. His emotions were certainly difficult to read. Mrs. Bucket set down her tea.

"Well, just because he disagrees with your . . . beliefs, doesn't mean he's not proud of you. I know that if my Charlie were to grow up to be a famous _trash collector_, but were still a moral person and had a good life, I'd certainly be proud of him." Mr. Bucket nodded next to his wife and put his arm around her. Wonka gazed downward.

"You and dad are pretty different," he said softly, more to himself than the other people in the room. Mrs. Bucket began to gently stir her tea.

"Mr. Wonka, I'm sure he's not as different as you seem to think. Occupation or not, he's still your family." He glanced up at her, but quickly back down, and then the chocolatier's gaze remained quietly to the floor. Mrs. Bucket paused, then put a sugar cube into her tea, stirring it once again. She turned to her husband with a little smile.

"Dear, how do you suppose out parents are doing home alone?" she asked him pleasantly, deciding a change in subject may be in order.

* * *

". . . and the teeth in the back demand extra attention as well. . ." Dr. Wonka flipped the magnifying glass of the contraption on his head up and began recording things down into his notebook. There was a moment of silence as he did this. Finally he spoke up again.

"So how is everything going with the factory, young man? I assume everything with your family's relocation has gone smoothly?" He was still writing as he talked, and Charlie was grateful for this. There was something very intimidating about Willy Wonka's father when he gave you his direct attention. Charlie rubbed his chin from it's time of being craned open.

"It did. Our house is small, so it wasn't hard to move . . ." Oops. Should he have said it quite like that? But to his gentle surprise Dr. Wonka didn't seem quite confused at all. He nodded as he wrote.

"Ah yes, the smaller the easier to move, I do suppose . . ." he kept writing. He was probably only paying half attention, and Charlie relaxed.

"And . . ." he continued to jot down notes, ". . . how is your new apprenticeship?" Charlie grinned.

"It's great. It's really interesting," he said happily. Dr. Wonka nodded through his notes again.

"Rather young to be taking up such a responsibility as a factory though. It must be rather difficult with your schooling and then the factory work during any other time." Charlie smiled.

". . . Well Mr. Wonka's factory is a bit . . . different than others might be." The older man frowned curiously, but didn't say anything besides, "Hm. . ." Charlie was quiet as the man continued to scribble chicken scratch down on paper.

"And how _is_ my son lately? When the two of you are working at the factory. . ." More chicken scratch.

"Mr. Wonka?" Charlie beamed. "Oh he's great, sir. He's a lot of fun . . ." Perhaps that was a rather awkward way to say that too. Dr. Wonka made a face, and Charlie continued on a straighter scale. "He's . . . really good at what he does." The dentist nodded.

"Yes . . ." he said, then knit his brows. "I didn't approve much of Willy's choice of career. But his business has flourished over the years so well, I really am quite impressed." His tone hadn't changed from the serious, booming one it always retained. But Charlie figured this was as close to a kind tenor as it got. He smiled.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to hear that," he said, glancing at the far wall of newspaper clippings. Dr. Wonka sighed mildly.

"I'm afraid it's difficult to tell with these kinds of things . . . we never did understand each other very well . . ." He was still writing. Charlie paused.

"Well I'm sure he'd understand if you two talked a bit more. It's . . . probably been a while." Charlie saw Dr. Wonka's writing hand falter for a moment. His gaze stayed on the paper.

"Quite . . ." he said quietly. Then he drew in a breath, regaining his proper composure. "But he hasn't changed a bit. Still as stubborn as he's ever been. I can see it in his eyes." Charlie smiled. Dr. Wonka drew up his eyebrows curiously. "Bit on the peculiar side, though . . ." he murmured half attentively as he continued to record in his book. Charlie's eyes widened a bit, and he tried hard not to smile this time. There was another silence as Dr. Wonka finished up his notes, and suddenly Charlie thought of something.

" . . . Dr. Wonka?" he began timidly.

"Hm?" Charlie paused.

"When is Mr. Wonka's birthday?" Dr. Wonka stopped in his writings for a moment, furrowed his brow, then looked up at the ceiling in thought.

"May . . . twenty-fifth, I do believe," he said after a moment and went back to his writing. "Why not ask him, I'd sure he'd have told you." Charlie hesitated.

"I . . . hadn't really thought of it till now," he said. The dentist nodded, wrote one more thing down on the paper, and set down his pen with a click.

"Well, we're all done here," he said as he stood up, unlatching the odd magnifying contraption from his head and setting it on the table. Charlie decided it must be one of his own designs. "Nothing major with your tooth, lad; shouldn't worry. Though, if it's possible, I'd like to see you in a few months to make sure everything goes accordingly." He handed Charlie a little piece of paper for an appointment date. Charlie took it and slid out of the chair. "Let's go meet the others then . . ." Dr. Wonka led Charlie down the hallway and into the living room. When they got there, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket set down their tea cups, and Charlie trotted over to them. Dr. Wonka adjusted his rubber gloves. "Your boy here is fine, madam. I've arranged another appointment in a bit to check everything up?"

"That'd be fine sir, thank you," she said with a smile as she put her arms over her son's shoulders. In the corner Wonka carefully stood up, and Dr. Wonka glanced over.

"Oh, now before you all leave, might I have a look at your teeth, Willy?" Wonka froze.

"Mine?"

"Just a quick one. I'd like to see how you're doing. I never did get the chance the last time you were here." He turned to the Buckets. "You all can come along, it won't take but a moment." Wonka did a minor stutter with his mouth, but his father gestured for him to follow, so he did.

Back inside the dental office, Wonka cautiously made his way to the chair in the middle of the room and eased his way down. Dr. Wonka walked over and sat in his own chair, picking up a little mirror and a magnifying glass.

"Alright then, let's see here. . ." Wonka nervously worked his jaw for a moment, then ever so slowly eased it open. The older man leaned in and began inspecting, releasing his series of usual, "Hm" and "Ah" and "Huh . . ." He reached over and got out a larger magnifying glass. His iris filled the entire thing. Wonka sat still with his mouth open. Suddenly the doctor leaned a little to the side to look in the left of his son's mouth.

"Willy, have you . . ." He leaned to look in the other side. ". . . have you still been wearing your retainer at night . . .?" He leaned back up, but Wonka stayed lying down in the patient chair.

"Yes, sir," he answered quietly. Dr. Wonka flipped the magnifying glass back down to look in Wonka's mouth again.

"And it still fits . . .?"

"I've had my orthodontist shape it . . ." Willy answered meekly. Charlie, in the doorway, tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. It was interesting that after all the time he hadn't seen his father, Wonka had still listened to what he'd told him about his teeth. Maybe that's why they'd stayed so lovely, even whilst running a candy factory.

"Oh, so you do have been checking up regularly then?" Dr. Wonka asked the chocolatier as he continued to look in his mouth.

"Uh huh . . ." came Wonka's open-mouthed reply.

"Huh . . ." There were a few more moments of this, then Dr. Wonka sighed and took down his magnifying glass, setting it on his tool tray. "Well, you're doing excellent, Willy. Nothing I can say besides that." He stood up, and Wonka carefully slid out of the chair. Dr. Wonka removed his gloves, then looked down sternly at his son, putting a finger in the air. "Though you still need to floss." Wonka smiled sheepishly and looked down as he began adjusting the corners of his own purple rubber gloves. Dr. Wonka turned back around to the Buckets, and Mr. Bucket walked up to him and shook his hand.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Wonka. How much do I owe you?"

"No charge."

"Oh, but sir-" The older man shook his hand in the air.

"No no, please; any friend of Willy's needn't 'pay' for something as simple as a tooth check up." The Buckets thanked him again and he led them down the corridor to the front door, where they all got their belongings and started out the door.

"I'll be seeing you in a few months then, Charlie," he said as the boy walked out. Charlie nodded and gave a little wave.

"Thank you Dr. Wonka!" Dr. Wonka turned back to his son by the doorway who was taking up his coat and hat.

"You've got yourself quite an heir there, Willy. He's a good lad," he said with a nod. Wonka smiled and looked out the door.

"Yah . . . he is." There was a pause. Dr. Wonka straightened up in his usual manner and faced Willy.

"Well, thank you for coming then." Wonka began to bring his hand up for the expected handshake, but was a bit staggered aback when his father pulled him into a soft hug. He took in a surprised breath.

"It was good to see you again, son," said Dr. Wonka softly. The wide eyed Willy Wonka let out a breath, cautiously putting his arms around his father's back and laying his fingers around the ruffle at the top of his clean, white dentist coat

"You too, dad," he whispered, as he gently rested his chin on his father's shoulder. The two didn't linger longer than needed, and when they let go, Willy Wonka set his hat on his head and tapped the rim to his father with a little smile, then walked out the door. His father waved and carefully closed the entrance to his oddly placed little home as a cool gust of wind blew by. Wonka caught up with the Buckets just as they were entering the Elevator. He caught his breath and turned towards Charlie with a grin.

"How's your tooth, Charlie?" Charlie smiled.

"It's good, Mr. Wonka. It's feeling better." He rubbed his chin softly. Wonka gave another brilliant grin as he punched the button for Dr. Wonka's house again and the elevator started into the sky.

"Oh, good," he said with a sigh, still smiling. Charlie smiled too, as did the other Buckets in the elevator, though Mrs. Bucket still looked a bit uneasy about their form of transportation. The elevator vibrated up into the beautiful blue, and as Wonka pushed another button, it began its way through the sky and back to the factory. As it rumbled through the air, Charlie rubbed his chin again.

"I don't think I really like running into things," he said with a smile. Wonka laughed and looked down at his heir.

"Well gosh, Charlie," he giggled, "I don't much like it either."

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**Author's Notes:** And it didn't take long at all to put up this chapter, now did it?**: pulls off top hat and takes a big sweeping bow:**

**The button to Dr. Wonka's house:** Repressed Memories, that sounded like the exact button to me, don't you think? It was slightly noted of in the fourth chapter, in the very beginning, if you didn't notice . . . A lot of the times if I say something that seems like it has a few blanks, they usually come back later in the story, so keep that in mind.

**He paused, then every so gently nudged the man next to him:** Kay, it's probably just me, but I really really looooooved this part! Just because it's really the first time when Charlie and Wonka's friendship is seen, ya know? Just like it's the beginning of their kind of closeness.

**Wonka's birthday:** (If I had clues like I did with Charlie's, I'd have used them.) Just hang in there with me, everyone. It's all part of God's plan . . . my plan . . . you know. The mystical goddess of newbie writer's plan.

"**Well, we're all done here," he said as he stood up, unlatching the odd magnifying contraption from his head and setting it on the table. Charlie decided it must be one of his own designs:** I always thought of Doctor Wonka to be the kind that uses these odd tools that he's created himself, kind of like Ichabod Crane in Sleepy Hollow. You know that bizarre gadget he wears when he's inspecting the bodies that has the magnifying glasses? Hahahah. . .Yah, I couldn't get the image out of my head of Wonka's dad using that thing when he's looking at teeth. It just seemed to fit his freaky seriousness when it came to things like brushing after meals so well.

"**. . . have you still been wearing your retainer at night . . .?":** I always thought this would explain the minor lisp. . . heheheheh. . .

**Chapter 6 Preview:** I'm even actually not sure yet. I know we'll get some more aftermath, and just a little more insight on how everything works with the Buckets' new location. But we'll see where it goes from there. After all, the best kind of prize is a _SUR_-prize! Hahahaha!


	6. Cracking the Candy

Sorry this took!

My computer downstairs where I type fried, and had to be fixed before I could get the story on my flashdrive to stick up here on this one where I actually get the internet. Ohhh, so traumatizing. . .

MY DEAR BEAUTIFUL REVIEWERS:

Stickbug: I'm glad you think so! Perhaps ya liked it enough to maybe. . . come back again sometime and check up on it. . **.:big puppy hopeful eyes:** But, ya know. . . :cough: . . . only if ya wanted. Heheh.

Utou: YAAAAY! HOORAY FOR SOUND EFFECTS! Hhahahh . . . Oh! But I'm so sorry about the words stuck together; my computer has this spyware stuff, so I can't get to certain sites, and the site where I edit the chapters is one of them. -- I don't even know why, but something must have messed up when I posted it, and I couldn't check or change it. I've fixed it now. . . I think it's better, isn't it? And for the DVD:foams at mouth: Omg the deluxe edition is miiine. . . I keep it in a Ziploc baggy in a pillow case and carry it around with me where ever I go. . . **:hugs pillow case and little bubble hearts comefloating up in the air above:**

DemiDevil: That picture is sooo _cute_! I love the nerds, hahahah. . . And for Charlie running into the door. . . _I've done that too_. . . in public. . . It's kinda funny, really, cuz you think of how Wonka runs into the elevator, and you think _Oh, no, not me too,_ but as soon as ya start to laugh, you realize people are staring . . . and you're still on the floor. **:anime sweat drop:**

Oracle Phoenix: (ohhh, your name is pretty. . .) Ohhh! An_ alert,_ how exciting for me! **:does a dance:** Yah, I'm always a little put off too when people make Dr. Wonka all evil and sinister and mUAHAHAHAH. **:cough:** It's like you wanna just go, you saw how he was when he and his son were together at the end of the movie, didn't you? I think he's simply,as you said, super strict and kind of detatched, just like Wonka, only in a different way. I don't think he's really all that bad. . . (am I the only one who noticed he got kinda teary eyed. . .?)

Thanks_ sooooo_ much for the reviews, you guys, you're awesome! And I'm SOOOOOO sorry this chapter took a while. . . I promise, I do my super ultra best to geteverything up as soon as I finishit (I usuallypost as soon as I put the finishing touches) But technology just doesn't seem to agree with me at times. . . **:sigh: **

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Chapter 6

**Cracking the Candy

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Charlie shuffled down the sidewalk, past the minor crowds of the typical busy afternoon. He every once in a while would edge to the side to dodge the occasional patches of icy puddles that were strewn along the road. The snow that had covered the ground of the little town for so long had met its match as the warm climate moved in. Winter was finally ending.

And it couldn't have come sooner for this young feeble boy, who every day made his trip to and from school, along the icy roads and past the corner shops that made up a great population of his hometown. Charlie Bucket skipped over another slushy puddle of snow as it gasped its last breath and slowly diminished into nothing more than a sad cold lake of water. He breathed out, and noticed how different it was to not see a large cloud of breath in the air in front of him. He continued down the sidewalk, until he slowed by a little shop next to him, where they were displaying televisions in the window. One of them was turned to the news, and on the screen was a rather large boy in a blue striped shirt, sorting a long string of hotdogs at a table next to what must have been his father. Charlie could just make out the words of the boy through the glass.

". . . and I vas stook! Zo, I yell and pound of ze glass, zen up I vent!" He took a large bite of the energy bar he was holding. "Ze schocolate vas delishious." From next to him, an equally large woman wearing too much make up and a sweat band was on an exercise machine.

"You should not 'ave been eating ze schocolate in ze first place, Augustus! You should 'ave been with ze group," she panted. Augustus took another bite of his health bar. One of the reporters stuck their microphone close to the boy's chin.

"Augustus, vat happened aftervards that's made you and your mozer zo different about your health?" Augustus shrugged.

"I don't know! I zink I vent down anozer pipe! Lot's of pipes! I ended somevhere vhere I vas pulled out and my mozer got me!" His mother got off her treadmill and dabbed a cloth on her forehead.

"Augustus iz a good boy. He just likes 'iz schocolate." She smiled and ruffled her son's hair. Little flakes of fudge came falling out. Augustus continued to help his father with the meat sorting, and the reporters flashed their cameras and shouted questions.

Charlie turned and continued down the street. He stopped at the corner of the road and went to the right. The sign that read, "Maple Street" was still frozen solid from the frost, and it rigidly creaked in the wind as Charlie crossed it. He came to a stop in front of a large building. Holding up his head in the cold atmosphere, he took a long smell of the air, then exhaled a sigh. This was what he always did when he came in front of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.

The boy took careful steps as he approached the building. He glanced around to see if there were many people nearby. There weren't, not that there usually were though. Most people stayed clear of the factory, really, with the exception of the whole golden ticket deal. Not only were people caught up in their own business and didn't very well have time to go lingering around the walls of some factory, but this particular factory was a bit of a legend. It had been claimed dead for nearly ten years, and had been pure mystery for the time after that. It was certainly an interesting member of their town, but also a rather uncanny one, and most people were at more ease when they stayed away from it.

But not Charlie Bucket. Not only had he walked past it twice almost every day of his life, but he'd always admired it. He wasn't afraid of it, and he'd stopped every day before he went back home, just to look at it. He'd look at the enormous Iron Gate that stood in front, and he'd observe its intricate design. He'd study its structure, the way it rounded at the corners and curved in a way that looked like someone had carved it out of a single block of clay. He'd pore over its colossal smoke chimneys, including the single smoke stack that came up from its center in one symmetrical swirl. He'd smell the sweet scented air around it, the air that always breathed of chocolate, and he would simply gaze at it in wonder.

It was quite a wonder, indeed.

Charlie approached the structure's gates gingerly. Once again, he made a quick notice that there were no people around him. With that, he walked to one side of the Iron Gates and to a smaller gated doorway next to them. He pulled out a little red card from his coat pocket and slid it down a discrete slot that rested beside the door. The slot made a quiet buzz, and Charlie heard a snap. He pushed on the gated doorway, opening it just enough for him to slip through, and re-closed it behind him with another iron click. The little Bucket walked up, past the delivery trucks on the sides of the walls, to the doors of the factory. They were old and battered, making it looked like no one had been through them in decades. Which was true, until just about a month ago.

He pushed one of them open. Inside was a series of life sized dolls, with a colourful backdrop of smiling clocks and spinning wheels, everything still and lifeless in the dark. Charlie began through the stage, down to the actual factory entrance hidden behind it. He wished Mr. Wonka would take the whole thing down; they gave Charlie the creeps. He reached the door at the end and pushed it open, revealing the long, dimly lit, red carpeted hallway that Charlie knew as the main corridor. He began his way along.

The main corridor was rather large, really, for a hallway. Its walls were a dark shade of bluish gray, and were spread farther out from the red carpet that went down its center. There was quite a lot of floor space in between, an equal pearl colour as the walls and with a texture pattern. Along the walls were black lamps that stood straight up, then bent rigidly down, leaving light to reflect immediately off the floor. The high ceiling arched at the top, and there were small circular windows that rowed on the crest of each wall. They left equally circular light shadows across from each other, which actually made it very nearly impossible to tell whether there were only windows on one wall and the others were simply light beams, or vice versa, or if there simply weren't any windows at all, and the light was projected from some other unknown source. That wouldn't be too odd, though. Not in this factory.

Charlie continued walking down, heading towards the end of the corridor and the little door at the end. He sighed and looked at the ceiling as he walked. It really was a lovely building, inside as well as out. The rib-like arches stretched out shyly past each other, stopping at the edge of the wall, where they met the windows. In the morning, the light that came through those windows barely lit up the room. But at this time in the early afternoon, there were enormous circles of light that shone through and onto the floor where Charlie walked, hitting him like a spotlight as he walked down the red carpet.

Charlie was nearly to the door at the end of the long hallway when he heard a small something behind him. Nothing enough to make him wonder too much, but nonetheless he turned to see behind him. There was nothing. He tilted his head and shrugged it off, then turned back around to face the d-

"Heh, Boo."

Charlie stumbled back with a little gasp, nearly falling backwards from the heavier-than-he book bag that was tugging on his back. He caught himself back up, and looked at the man in front of him with the long maroon frock coat and black top hat. Mr. Wonka set his multi-coloured cane firmly in the ground and leaned into it, folding both hands on its top and crossing his ankles, wearing a gleeful little smirk. Charlie caught his breath from the fright, and grinned softly, wide eyed.

"How did you . . .?" Wonka giggled, taking his weight off his cane and bending forward a little.

"Scared'dya."

"Yes," Charlie smiled softly. Wonka grinned, evidently proud of himself. "What are you doing out here?" Charlie asked. The chocolatier straightened up and gave the little boy in front of him an obvious-of-innocence look.

"To meet you back from school, of course." Charlie turned his head slightly.

"But you've never done that before . . ." Wonka grinned another one of his bright white smiles again, tossing his cane a little in the air and catching it lower down so he could carry it as he began to turn around.

"Then maybe it's high time I start," he said. Charlie followed him cautiously to the door. Wonka walked up to the tiny door, bent down slightly to fit in the hallway, and fished in his pocket. He pulled out his key ring, and began dribbling for the right one.

"Your mom said your dad said he told your mom he was going to start working a little later, and that you'd have to walk home by yourself more often." He grinned as he picked up a key, but eyed it, then looked a little confused and dropped it back down. He kept looking. "So," he continued in his usual spunky tone, "She was gonna come out here ta meet ya, but I told her I would, cuz she's always doing like a jillion things at once anyway." He found another key, stared it down, then pouted slightly and began searching once again.

"You didn't have to do that," Charlie said from behind him. Wonka kept fingering the keys, but swayed to face the little boy and grinned a little "I do what I want" grin.

"I wanted to," he noted in his still idiosyncratic voice. Charlie smiled. Wonka looked sharply back at his key ring. "And if I could just find the gosh darned key so we could tell your mom I-" He cut off as a little arm slid in front of him and stuck a key into the door, cracking it open. He glanced down at Charlie, who was hiding a stubborn grin. ". . . gotcha," he finished, then made a face and looked at the key Charlie was holding. "How'd you get that?" he asked. Charlie smiled.

"You gave it to me," he reminded him. Wonka glanced to the left and frowned.

"Oh . . . yah." He half lid his eyes properly and turned to face the door, gently pushing it open, revealing the Chocolate Room and all its glory. The two stepped in, pausing for a moment to soak in their settings, then started their way to the crooked little house in the center, Charlie just behind Wonka, as always. The chocolatier continued talking to the boy behind him, slightly turning his head as if the sound waves wouldn't be able to make their way to Charlie's ears if he didn't.

". . . But she'll be glad ta hear you got here alright by yourself," he tilted his head to the side with amused confusion. "She gave me a bunch of directions about what to do when I found you. I don't remember them, but she really wanted you to get back okay. . . It sounded like she thought I was gonna _eat_ you or something when I found you if she didn't tell me otherwise. . ." he giggled shortly as they reached the cottage door. Wonka rapped his customary three times. Charlie looked up at him and smiled.

"Mr. Wonka, you can just come in," he laughed softly as he went into the house. Wonka looked through the doorway where Charlie had just gone through, rather puzzled, then carefully made his way in behind him, taking off his hat as always. "Mum?" Charlie called. Mrs. Bucket emerged from behind a cabinet in the kitchen. Charlie trotted up to her and gave her a hug.

"Oh, hello dear. Did you make it home alright then?" Charlie nodded. Mrs. Buckets smiled up to Wonka, who was still standing in the doorway. "And thank you for meeting up with him, Mr. Wonka, it was quite a load off my shoulders." Wonka, who'd been looking at the design on their welcome mat, looked up and grinned.

"Oh! Yah, sure thing Mrs. B.," he said, then looked over at Charlie and grinned wildly. "Come on, Charlie! Let's go! Let's go let's go let's go let's go!" he said, doing a funny little jig to a beat only he seemed to hear. Charlie quickly pecked his mother on the cheek.

"Bye, mum!" he said as he scurried over to the door (Wonka was already out of sight, having gallomped somewhere into the Chocolate Room.) His mother waved and picked up some dishes from the table.

"Oh alright darling. I'll see you tonight!" she said as her son rushed out the door. She heard a distant "Kay!", then quickly added, "A-and be back on time for supper!"

Charlie ran out to the Chocolate Room to find where Mr. Wonka had gone. The chocolatier was out in the middle of the room, and he stuck his hand much higher in the air than needed to be and waved. Charlie jogged up to him, and the man began walking towards the elevator.

"What's the rush, Mr. Wonka?" he asked. Wonka widened his eyes and stuck his hand in the air.

"Rush? There's no rush! I'm just bored! Been bored all day! Booo-ored!" he whined, bending his knees in a phony threatening collapse. He sounded like a child who wants a cookie but isn't allowed one. Charlie's steps faltered and he laughed as he tried to catch up again.

"Why?" he giggled, "You have an enormous chocolate factory that you said yourself you haven't even seen the whole of yet." When they arrived at the elevator doors, Wonka tapped the call button with the back of his finger. He pouted and tilted his head.

"Yah, but it's no fun by myself," he said in dismay as they slid open. The two stepped in and Charlie smiled. Wonka grinned brightly again and bent down to look at the Charlie-level part of the button panel. "Now . . . where shall we go . . ." He knit his brow and set a gloved finger on his lips, his other arm behind his back, holding his cane. Charlie looked at the buttons as well. He'd just passed the Pee Wee Thai Chi Room when he ran across one that caught his eye. He turned up to Wonka.

"Mr. Wonka, what's the square candy room?" Wonka gave him a peculiar look, and Charlie pointed to the button. The chocolatier's eyes lit up.

"Oohhhhh! Lemme show you!" He punched the button swiftly and almost immediately the lift lurched to the right, made a drop, then began zooming upwards. The two caught their balance (or tried to) as the elevator swerved a few times, then stopped abruptly. Charlie put his hand against the wall for support. Wonka straightened his hat. "Ah kay, here we are!" he announced with a grin, and slipped out just as the doors opened. They entered a room with a long table. On the table were little sugar cubes, all in rows. Each one had a funny little face painted on the front, like a sleeping doll. Charlie tilted his head to the side; they were odd little things. Wonka, however, beamed.

"There we are!" he said as he rested he hands on the swirly ball top of his cane, "My square sweets that look round!" Charlie blinked, then looked back up to Wonka.

"Round?" Charlie repeated.

"Yup." Charlie looked back to the candies.

"But, Mr. Wonka," he began blankly, rather unsure of what it was really even supposed to mean, "They seem rather . . . square . . ." Wonka held his head up in a dignified manner as he looked at the candies.

"But they are square, of course they're square, I never said they weren't." Charlie looked up to him again, puzzled. Wonka kept his head straight, but glanced out the corner of his eye to Charlie, a mischievous smile at his lips. Charlie grinned.

"Just show me," he said with a laugh. He was beginning to know the chocolatier far too well for this. Wonka grinned and tossed his cane a little in the air, catching it and tapping it on the floor twice.

**Clunk**

**Clunk**

Gradually, all the little candies on the table opened their little eyes like they'd been asleep (Charlie thought he even heard a couple yawning) and began to look around the room to see what had made he noise. Charlie grinned. Wonka looked back down at Charlie, nodding delightedly, and Charlie looked back up.

"Square candies that look round," he confirmed, and the man next to him smiled with a bright gleam.

"Yah, I know!" He paused, then suddenly he spun around. "Come on!" he said, as he began to walk around the tables. Charlie quickly followed. "There's more important rooms down this hallway to see!" The two got to the other side, and Wonka turned back around to Charlie and the candies. He bent down a little. "Not to mention, these guys get kinda cranky when ya wake 'em." He nodded, then turned and walked out of the room. Charlie gave one more look at the little candies as they watched him leave. Some had already fallen back asleep. Wonka led Charlie into the hallway that connected from the square candies room. He shut it behind them, and began pulling out his key ring.

The hallway they were in was a light pink, with a white rug going down the center and little circular lights in the ceiling. It was very long; all of the halls Charlie had seen in the factory so far were. Some of the doors to the left Charlie could see were, "FIZZY LIFTING DRINKS," "COWS THAT GIVE CHOCOLATE MILK," "HOT ICE CREAM FOR COLD DAYS". . . He remembered Grandpa Joe telling him about Wonka's ice cream that never melts, and thinking it was impossible. But Charlie was beginning to seriously believe something he'd been told a while back by a very reliable source:

Nothing was impossible.

He turned back to Wonka, who was locking the door.

"Why do you keep it locked if the only other people that might go in are the Oompa Loompas?" he asked him. Wonka turned around as he was re-pocketing his key ring.

"Well I dunno about you," he said as he put away his key and patted the coat pocket he'd placed them in, then started down the hallway to the right. "But I wouldn't want those little boogers getting out at night while I'm asleep. I could wake up with sixteen hanging from my hair, one on each ear, and some of the little ones in back dangling from the tip of my nose!" He set it finger on his nose, following it and going a bit crossed eyed. He blinked, then kept going down the hallway. Charlie made a serious effort to keep up.

They began passing some rooms, and Charlie would glance in the window to see what was going on inside. They passed a room called "MARSHMALLOW KITTENS". Inside were dozens of those little marshmallows you get on Easter, all shaped like cats, all scampering about. There were toys for them to play with, Charlie saw. They had a syrup dispenser that a few of the kittens were licking at, and little balls of strawberry yarn, and sugar nip over in the corner. Charlie and Wonka kept walking.

They slowed by another room. Inside was a greenhouse, and Oompa Loompas were scattered here and there, watering plants and writing things down in notepads. The only thing that was growing, though, was an oddly shaped fruit. Some were long and slender with a purple skin, and others were rather large and yellow, with lots of little berries on them, and the rest were an odd mixture of both, yellowing on one side and purpling on the other. The door read "RASPBERRY BANANAS".

"Ya know when you look on a candy and it says stuff like, "Strawberry-watermelon?" asked Wonka suddenly, glancing back at Charlie. Charlie nodded. Wonka swatted his hand in the air and made a "Phbsshh" sound. "All they do is put a watermelon and a strawberry together in a blender," he said matter-of-factly. Charlie wasn't sure that was exactly how it worked, but he supposed Wonka would know better than he. "The only real way ta do that stuff is that," he said, pointing inside the room. He grinned. "That's where we cross breed the bananas and

raspberries. . ." He put a finger to his chin and looked at the ceiling. "I was thinking about calling them something more fun, though . . . like raspbananas, or banasberries!" He looked down at Charlie excitedly, and the boy grinned and nodded.

"Banasberries," agreed Charlie. Wonka straightened back up, beginning to walk again.

"Banasberries, I think . . ." Charlie heard him murmur to himself as they carried on. They began passing other rooms. They passed "SCRATCH AND SNIFF" and "CARAMEL SCRAPPLES" and "PUPPY DOG TAILS" and "ORANGES: NOT ONLY FRUIT" and "TWISTY THINGS" and "LONG CRUST SHORTCAKE" and-

Suddenly Charlie ran into the back of Mr. Wonka for perhaps the seventh time since he'd moved into the factory. He rubbed his nose, and noticed Wonka glance back and repress a laugh. The chocolatier bent down, and Charlie looked around him to see an Oompa Loompa in a white rubber jumpsuit beckon the man closer. Willy leaned in, and the little worker put his hand next to his mouth and began whispering something. Wonka glanced around the room as he listened, and Charlie watched curiously.

Spspspspsss.

"Uhuh . . ."

Spspspspss. . .

"Oh dear-"

Spspspspspssss . . .

"No!" The Oompa Loompa nodded urgently, and Wonka stood back up. "Well, then something must be done!" He began down the hall where they'd come from, and waved for Charlie to follow. "Come on, my dear boy, we haven't a moment to loose!" Charlie gave a quick little wave to the Oompa Loompa and scurried behind the chocolatier.

"What is it, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka came to the door at the end of the hallway, and Charlie was interested to see it opened up into the Inventing Room. He followed Wonka in as the man began his way through the machines.

"Some of the Oompa Loompas working in the underground mine have come across a wall they can't get through," he said as he came to the entrance of the Inventing Room and swung it open. "Which kinda isn't good, cuz if they don't keep the tunnel going the way it started, the rocks will all form together and won't break apart." He started down the side path in front of Charlie.

"What mine?"

"Why the one underground, of course!" Charlie was still puzzled, and, as if sensing this, the man in front of him turned around. He gave a peculiar look. "You mean I haven't showed you the mine?" Charlie shook his head, and Willy Wonka lightly tapped the side of his own, turning back around. "Well I don't know what's wrong with me! I guess it's time I show you now, then." Charlie smiled and carefully stepped over the scattered puddles of chocolate on the path.

"I'm sure there are still quite a few things I haven't seen, Mr. Wonka." Wonka laughed and nodded furiously. Charlie noticed a few passing rooms.

"SCRATCHING DEPARTMENT"

"PROJECTION ROOM"

"ALL THE MINTS: SPEARMINT, DOUBLEMINT, LINAMINT."

Suddenly Wonka came to a halt, and turned to face the wall. The door read, "ROCK CANDY MINE" and Charlie understood. He would really need to use his imagination to keep up with all the things inside the factory. Wonka pulled out his key ring and immediately singled out a key, sticking it in the door and unlocking it with a loud, "Click". Charlie wondered why it had taken him so long to find the key to the Nut Room when Veruca Salt was being bad-nut tested by the squirrels on the other side; he seemed to know the rest of the rooms' keys fairly well. In fact, he seemed to find the key right away when he was letting Mr. Salt through the gate, after his daughter had been dropped down the garbage chute. Sometimes Charlie couldn't help but wonder. . .

They stepped inside, but there wasn't a mine to be seen. Instead, there was an elevator shaft to the right, and a little coat closet to the left. Wonka went up to the coat rack, pulling off a large silver coat and laying it over his arm, then pulling out a smaller silver coat and tossing it to Charlie. It landed on the boy's head.

"Go on and put that on, it's pretty chilly down there," Wonka said as he began slipping on his. The boy took the cover up and looked at it; it was just his size. He looked up at the chocolatier.

"Where'd this come from?" Wonka was trying to figure out a way to slip into his sleeves without having to put down his cane. He glanced over at Charlie.

"An exotic breed of sheep from Mongolia." Charlie giggled.

"I mean why is it my size?" Wonka had managed to get one arm in, and looked up at Charlie curiously.

"I made it for you," he said in a tone like it was obvious, and he wasn't sure why the boy was asking. Charlie looked back down at the coat. "Everything you're gonna need in the factory is made or being made, ya know. We can't go around with you without a coat for the Candy Mine or goggles for the Television Room or a timer for the Pouting Corner!" he continued.

Charlie looked at his coat again, then pulled it on over himself, zipping up the front. He looked over and tried not to laugh as Wonka nearly fell over attempting to put his arm through the other sleeve. He went up behind the chocolatier and tugged the back down so his arm went in properly. Wonka giggled quietly and pulled up the zipper, trying to look more dignified.

"Thanks. . ." He picked up a black hard hat from the coat hanger, and plopped it on Charlie's head. It was a too big, and fell over his eyes. He pushed it back up in a cute little way as Wonka removed his top hat, placing it on the peg, and set on a black safety one as well. He then turned to face the elevator shaft and pushed a big red button next to it. There was a craning sound from below as a little lift appeared and the doors slid open.

The two walked in, and Charlie felt it odd to see only two buttons on the wall: up and down. Wonka pressed the one that had a large arrow pointing down, and sure enough, the pulley obeyed its command and shivered downwards. It didn't take long for them to reach their destination, and soon the doors opened to reveal a large gaping cavern, filled with dozens of Oompa Loompas wearing silver jumpsuits and hard hats, all picking and digging away at the rocks around them.

The place was utterly beautiful. The entire cave was walled with multiple coloured crystals, and with a single speck of light through one, there were rainbows wherever you looked. Wonka stepped out of the lift and two Oompa Loompas scurried up to meet him. One tugged on his pant leg and the other pointed urgently down one of the tunnels. Wonka followed their lead, and Charlie followed his.

They stopped at a dead end, where they were multiple workers standing still around wheelbarrows of rock candy. The Oompa Loompa holding onto Wonka's sleeve let go and pointed at the wall in front of them. Sure enough, it looked rather solid, and had little chunks out of its bottom where some of the miners had attempted to crack it. Wonka knit his brow and approached it, leaning forward and inspecting it with both hands behind his back. He stood back up and nodded seriously, turning back around to face Charlie.

"It's a wall alright," he said scientifically. Charlie looked up at him, and Wonka looked back down, his forehead still set thoughtfully. As if he'd read the answer on Charlie's little nose, he suddenly stuck up a finger. There was a pause from his epiphany, until he finally spun back to face the wall. "Com'ere," he said as he gently knocked Charlie's shoulder like he usually did when he wanted the boy to do something. He walked down a little tunnel, and Charlie wasn't sure why until they reached the end and he realized it curved around to the other side of the wall they'd been at. Wonka went up to the wall, and looked around at it, his head going wherever his eyes did. Suddenly he spun around, and looked rather worried. Charlie looked at him curiously. The chocolatier took a step forward and stopped.

"Charlie. . ." he began, looking uncertain. ". . . Are you good with math?" Charlie was rather confused by the man's question, but he thought about it, then nodded.

"I usually get A's at school." Wonka nodded, paused, then suddenly reached into his coat and pulled out a measuring tape. He handed it to Charlie, and virtually dragged him up to the wall. He took out a pencil from his inside coat pocket, looked at the rock for a moment, then made two marks on it. He pointed, and looked at Charlie.

"Kay. . . er, measure from there to there. . ." Charlie went up and measured. Before he could ask, a paper pad was stuck in front of his face. He took it and wrote down the measurements. Wonka made two more marks. ". . . There to there?" Charlie recorded. Wonka nodded, and made three more marks. "Kay there, ta there, ta . . . there. . ." After Charlie had measured, Wonka turned around. He shut his eyes and put his hand on his forehead; it looked like he was reading the future.

"Kay, er. . . add the first two measurements together. . ." Charlie added. ". . . and divide. . ." Charlie divided. Wonka gave him a few more simple instructions, then spun around. ". . . Done?" Charlie nodded, and handed the pad to the chocolatier. He took it, looked at it for a moment, then grinned suddenly and walked up to the wall. "Then right. . ." he looked at the paper, then jabbed his finger on the wall. "Here." Charlie looked at the spot.

"What's there?" Wonka spun back around.

"Blblblblbl!" A little Oompa Loompa came out of a tunnel and stood attention. Wonka grinned and bent down, pointing to the wall. He looked back and nodded, and the Oompa Loompa nodded back, heading over to the wall. Wonka got up excitedly and scurried over to Charlie. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Kay!" he called to the worker by the wall, and the little man picked up his chisel, aimed at the point Wonka had marked out, then swung at it with speed.

There was a strident crack, and a long fracture began to grow up the wall. Charlie was watching, when Wonka suddenly grabbed his sleeve again and dragged him down the tunnel they'd come from. They ended up back in front of the wall where all the tiny miners were waiting for instruction. Wonka grinned, and made a gleeful gesture with his hand to go on. They nodded began digging at the wall, which broke off with ease. One of the Oompa Loompas that had led the chocolatier and his heir down this way came up in front of Wonka and crossed his arms across his chest. Wonka did the same, and the worker went back to mining.

"Good job, my dear boy," Wonka said, still grinning at the progress the workers were all making. Charlie looked up.

". . . Me?" Wonka looked down at him.

"Yah! Without your calculations, we'd have never been able to break through that sucker!" Charlie looked back at the wall.

". . . Couldn't you have done it, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka made a face.

"I hate math. . ." Charlie smiled, and looked up. The chocolatier suddenly beamed.

"Hey!" He paused, still grinning, like he was working out his idea in his head, then abruptly knocked Charlie on the shoulder (again). Charlie stumbled back and laughed. "Hey, ya wanna explore?" Charlie pushed up his hard hat, which had slid forward again, back on his forehead, and nodded with a smile. Wonka nodded sideways down one tunnel. "Come on. . ."

They started down the dark passageway, looking up at the intricate patterns the rocks had. It was just like a real cavern you'd want to visit over summer vacation, crystals embedded in the walls, sharp rock drops hanging from the ceiling. Charlie wondered if there were sleeping candy bats nestled in between the cracks of the walls. The clunk of Wonka's cane echoed around them as they walked.

"I haven't been down here in a long time," he noted as they went down. "Sure has gotten bigger. . ." They passed the Oompa Loompas digging and excavating the walls around them, then got to a somewhat abandoned area of the mine. Wonka stopped. "Oh! This must be the area they've already hollowed out!" he said with delight. There were channels and tunnels going out of the circular region of the mine. They were all very dark, and very mysterious. Charlie looked up and Wonka got a mischievous grin on his face, then flicked on the light on his hat. He nodded towards one of the passageways, and Charlie nodded happily, flipping on his helmet light as well as they started in . . .

* * *

". . . the jelly beanstalks. That way they'll sprout this spring and grow over the summer." Charlie climbed up onto a large rock, and stood to see his view. Wonka was over by a crystalline design, and nodded.

"Yah . . . cuz they'd have never jellified if we hadn't," he agreed. From up on top his rock, Charlie picked up a pebble from the ground and skipped it across a little pool of water next to him. Wonka climbed his way up to a little rock that hung over the wall. He sat down and dangled his legs over the side. "What do you think about little candy potted plants?" he asked, squinting slightly with thought. Charlie looked over at him and smiled.

"That you plant in chocolate soil," he replied. Wonka grinned and nodded.

"Yah, and they can be sunflowers and posies and roses and all kinds of stuff!" Charlie nodded as well, then suddenly grinned brightly, and stepped onto a lower rock.

"What about little candy Christmas trees?" he proposed. Wonka's eyes lit up with delight.

"Yaaaaahh! And they grow their own candy ornaments! And they're only as big as . . . they're like, just this big." He slid off from his seat and bent down, setting his hand up about a foot from the ground. Charlie smiled. He was glad Willy Wonka remembered things like holidays. The man wasn't _completely_ oblivious from the world. Charlie picked up another little rock and tossed it into the water. It skipped three times then sank. Wonka, who'd been leaning against the wall, knit his brow. He paused.

". . . How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, looking at the water where Charlie had tossed the stone. Charlie looked over at him and tilted his head.

"What?"

"That." Wonka made a throwing gesture, then bounced his hand a little and pointed at the water. "That." Charlie smiled.

"You just. . ." He picked up a rock, and inspected it. ". . . Throw it. Like a Frisbee." Wonka looked from Charlie to the water uncertainly. Charlie hopped down from his rock to the ground.

"Here. . ." he started to Wonka, who nervously took a step back, wondering what the boy was going to do. Charlie picked up a pebble from the ground, and held it up in front of both of them. "It has to be flat," he said and glanced up at Wonka, who was looking at the rock curiously. "It helps if it's round, and you just . . . spin it as you throw it." He threw the rock at the water and it skipped a couple times. "See?" Wonka tilted his head slightly. Charlie picked up another rock, brushed it off, and handed it to him. "Try it with this one." Wonka looked at the rock, then to Charlie, then to the rock, and hesitantly took it. He twisted his hand a little, like he was screwing on a cap backwards, aimed at nothing in particular, and tossed it, the rest of his body swaying a little with his arm. It skipped in the water twice. Wonka gasped and widened his eyes.

"Oh, weird." Charlie giggled, and Wonka bent down then sprung back up with another rock. He looked it over. "Why does it have to be flat?" Charlie shrugged and picked up a pebble.

"I don't know. That's just the only way it works." He skipped his own, then went over and climbed back up on his original rock. Wonka threw his pebble, watched it skip with a little grin, and giggled.

"That's really weird. . ." He went back to the wall behind him, scaled the side (which had been surprising Charlie quite a bit, since the chocolatier insisted on going about with a cane) back to his peak. He sat down and dangled his legs from the edge again. Charlie was looking around the ceiling of the cove they were in. Wonka continued to swing his legs, and accidentally kicked off a rock from the edge. It hit the floor, bounced a few times and fell into the water with a PLOP! The walls answered back with a

Plop. . .

Plop. . .

Plop. . . . . .

The two looked at the faraway ceiling. Wonka grinned.

"Hello . . .?" he said quietly, but just loud enough for the walls to hear.

Hello. . .

Hello. . .

Hello. . . . . .

Charlie smiled, and stood up.

"Hello!" he said a little louder.

Hello! . . .

Hello! . . .

Hello! . . . . . .

Wonka giggled and stood up as well. He cupped his mouth.

"MUMBLER!"

MUMBLER. . .

MUMBLER. . .

MUMBLER. . . . .

Charlie laughed, and the walls laughed back. Then there was a gentle rumble, and a few rocks fell from the ceiling. It stopped. Charlie and Wonka looked at the ceiling, then to each other wide eyed and grinned.

"Maybe we shouldn't do that . . ." Wonka giggled quietly. Charlie smiled and nodded back, carefully climbing down from his rock. However, he slipped just a bit, and a chunk of rock from the boulder went tumbling into the water below. It splashed over the edge and Wonka jumped back, hitting his head on the peak above him.

"Ouch!"

Ouch . . .

Ouch . . .

Ouch . . .

Ouch . . . . . . . . .

A steady rumble grew from the ceiling. Rocks began to fall, and Charlie looked over to Wonka who was standing with his hand on his head where he'd hit it, looking up at the cavern roof with dismay.

"Oh snap."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes, this one took a bit longer to post, but at least I left ya with a little cliff hanger, eh?

I'm not Canadian.

_Augustus's aftermath:_ I really didn't think I needed to put that much, because there wasn't a lot to learn about what happened afterwards. Not only was Augustus the first to go, but he really didn't seem that different when he was leaving. His mother sort of did, and I thought if she put him on a . . . er . . . 'healthier' diet, he'd go along with it. Energy bars can be pretty good, after all.

_"Heh, Boo.":_ Haaaaaaaaaaaahahahahah . . . I crack myself up. This reminded me of when the song ended (God I love that song) Willy Wonka is suddenly just there at the end of the line next to Mr. Salt clapping and giggling and going, "Wasn't that just magnificent!" And everyone is looking at him like, "Where the flip did _you_ come from?" Hahahhhahh . . .

He's magic.

_The Square Candy Room:_ That was fun. I wish we'd seen it on the tour, but since we didn't, I had the lovely opportunity to play with the matter.

"_I hate math. . .":_ Wonka knows his math, alright? He'd kinda have to in order to make all those scientific experimentations and calculations come out correctly. But, seriously, who wants to spend their time doing _math?_ Gross . . .

_Chapter 7 Preview: _Uh oh, your first cliff hanger! What to do, what to do? Quick, run around and panic! RUN! What happened to Charlie Bucket and Willy Wonka? Are they stuck? Are they dead? Kay well, probably not, but who's to know really? Oh, the suspense is killing me . . .


	7. Lethe and Locomotives

**REVIEWERS **

DemiDevil: I am ultimately relieved, all through this time, you didn't send a band of rabid Whangdoodles over here. I mean, how would I have explained that to my mother? "Oh, yes, I'm sorry mum, I found a few stray . . . dogs. Yes, dogs. . . Can I keep them?" And yes, the sneakiness of Mr. Willy Wonka has never ceased to amaze me . . . I will never ever get over Mr. Salt's face when Wonka first appears next to him after that show. "**:claps and giggles:** Wasn't that just _magnificent?_ I was worried it was getting a little dodgy in the middle part-"

"**:wtF:**"

"- but then that finale! **:giggle:** wOW!"

Maleficent Angel: Yay! I'm so glad you're liking it so far, and I do hope this one proves satiable to your predilection as well! (gawd, I love big words. . .)

Ziggeh Mantranoodle: Aaaaaaaahahahahh! I cannot believe you said mating call, that's so ironic! Kay, well, since you did, I gotta tell you. One time, waaay before this movie, I was walking to lunch at school, and my friend said something. (I don't recall what, but it made me do this) So I spun around went like this.

Blblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblblbl!

With a big grin on my face, and was like, "That's my _mating call!"_ Of course, I had meant to say 'battle cry' and I got a lot of weird look from my fellow classmates (especially the guys) as they walked on by.

It's so weird you said that. **:sci-fi music:**

Oracle Phoenix: **:shields self from puppy dog eyes:** No, NOT THE PUPPY DOG EYES! I can't take it . . .

OMG whenever I go into the Navy exchange (if you don't know, it's just a store) they're always playing CatCF on their televisions, and last time I went there, I did notice Dr. Wonka bought a Wonka bar sometime and kept the wrapper! I almost cried! That's so sweet . . .

And as for Charlie and Wonka's interaction, I swear, I feel 100 better since you said that. I'm so glad Wonka's in character enough, but that's not all it would take for the story to be right, ya know? I mean, Wonka's an awesome character, _duh_, but really unless he and Charlie kind of 'click', it's not going to work right. So I'm really glad you think so.

luthien-yavetil: My friend Kelsey says that. She goes, "UH OH!" Seriously, just like that. I nearly called her after I read your review and asked her if she posted a review on lately. . . She would have hung up on me.

Piscaria: I'm really glad you like the story, piscaria, and I know what you mean; those moments the movie hinted at but never quite explained. Oh _God_, I know, and it drives me _crazy_, which is why I had to start this story, cuz I had so many ideas I felt like my head was going to _blow up_! I swear, writing this story saved me from and untimely death . . .

Serpent of Light: Oh, _wow,_ thanks so much! The best compliment over all is that it's like the movie, because that's what I really hope to keep it at. That was my goal when I started. If I can just keep it at that right level that the movie had, I'll be utterly thrilled. If I ever start to sway away from that, PLEEEAASE tell me. And the "MUMBLER" line. . . I just couldn't help but put that in. **:giggle:** By the way he yelled it at Mike in the Television Room, I thought I _was_ going to hear an echo there!

PucktoFaerie: Ah, so cliffhangers scare you too, eh? I was scared just writing it, eh? And as for the Canadian comment, you thought that was random, eh? Well, I just wanted everyone to know that just because I said "eh" didn't mean I was Canadian, eh? But I'm glad you liked that chapter, eh? And I promise, no more cliffhangers unless I have a portable computer hanger around my neck so I'll have a backup if this one crashes again.

Eh?

Fxkoala: The transition between Wonka and the Buckets will be challenging . . . but, Oh God, so much fun. **:SQUEE:** But_ what's to become of them if they never make it out of the cave? _Oh, _snap!_ (I love that expression too, and the girl that sits across from me in science class has gotten me saying it because she says it all the time and I always laugh.)

MaRaMa-TSG: Oh what a lovely feeling it is to be fanned with _compliments!_ **:giggle:** Thanks so much, I seriously never thought people would like it like this! Wow, though, does it feel great to know you do so far. . . It's like Gatorade for my determination to write more!

* * *

Chapter 7

**Lethe and Locomotives

* * *

**

"Charlie . . .?"

A nervous giggle made its way into the dusty atmosphere as a figure peaked out from behind a pile of rocks and brushed his shoulder off. "Charlie, you okay?" It was dark. Willy Wonka reached up and switched back on the light on his hard hat, glistening up the crystal filled room, then climbed up on top of the broken stone that covered the ground. A little head poked its way out of the rubble and coughed from the other side of the room.

"I'm alright, Mr. Wonka." Charlie climbed out of the fortunately not-too-hard rock candy and stumbled to a standing position. Wonka released a breath. It would have really been upsetting if he had squashed his only heir. He stumbled over the rocks to the boy across the cavern, halting in front of him, then discretely looked him over. The hair that ruffled out from under his helmet was a bit mussed up, and there was quite a bit of sugar dust on the both of them, but other than that, he was fine. Charlie brushed himself off and looked up. The ceiling was still dark. He switched on his head light as well, illuminating the room even more as the light mirrored off the crystalloid walls. Wonka blinked, adjusting his eyes, then furrowed his brow and looked behind him.

"Where's my cane?" Charlie glanced around and saw a black little stub poking out of the rubble. He bent down and pulled it out, revealing the top half of the chocolatier's cane. The man took it and sighed with dismay. The glass swirl top was cracked. "Good thing for these. . ." he noted after a moment, rapping on top of Charlie's hart hat. "That might've been our noggins." Charlie smiled and pushed the helmet back up on his forehead. He looked over the way the two of them had come in; it was completely blocked up.

"Is there another way out?" He asked.

"Huh?" Having been preoccupied with picking every speck of dust off his coat, Wonka looked up at the what-used-to-be entrance as well. He frowned.

"Not that I know of. . ." he replied, stepping over and looking at the walled up tunnel. "This was a dead end I think . . ." He stood there for a moment, hand on chin, then sighed and walked back. "Looks like we may be stuck in here for a while, Charlie. . ." He leaned back against a wall and laid his broken cane on the ground next to him, folding his hands and twiddling his thumbs. Charlie looked back at the jammed tunnel as Wonka continued. "But the Oompa Loompas will have heard the collapse; we're not too far from construction. They'll be sending out a search squad pretty soon if they haven't already." He looked up into the air and grinned to himself. "Clever little things . . ." Charlie sighed.

"Mum'll be upset I'm late for supper."

"Got a good excuse, though," Wonka said, watching his thumbs twirl around each other. He glanced up at Charlie for a moment. Charlie noticed and looked over.

"What?" he asked curiously. Wonka continued to stare, then slowly allowed a little grin to show, looking casually back down at his thumbs.

"You look like a powdered donut," he stated matter-of-factly. Charlie smiled and brushed off his cheek as Wonka glanced back up. "That didn't make any difference," he giggled breathlessly. Charlie finally rubbed at his cheek, then turned a bit.

"You should see_ yourself_," he mumbled. Wonka stopped grinning and his eyes went wide. He paused with that expression, then opened his mouth.

"Nuh uh!" Charlie just glanced back and smiled. Wonka lightly touched his cheek with his index finger, then pulled off his black hard hat. He breathed onto it, cleaned it off with his sleeve, then looked into it like a mirror. Charlie grinned, and Wonka, once finished inspecting himself, put his hat back on and gave a phony little glare towards where Charlie was standing.

"You were worse. . ." he murmured. After a moment of dull silence, Charlie sighed and walked over to the wall, sliding down next to Wonka. The chocolatier leaned to the side a bit out of reflex, looking down at the boy. Charlie glanced over at the man's cane that lay by his feet.

"Can you fix it?" he asked. Wonka looked down to his candy coloured cane.

"Oh, yah," he assured, shrugging it off and swatting a hand in the air, "A replacement knob is all. . . I've got plenty of those lying around my room already." Charlie looked up at him curiously.

"Your room?" he repeated after a moment. Wonka looked down to him and smiled his signature white smile.

"Well, yah! Where do you think I sleep at night, the Pastry Room?" he giggled. Charlie hadn't even thought about where _Wonka _lived in the factory. But he was right; he couldn't sleep in the Pastry Room.

"Where's your room, Mr. Wonka?" Wonka looked up, considering how to map it out. After a moment he grinned and lightly tapped Charlie's arm.

"When we get out of here, I'll show ya. Kay?" Charlie smiled and nodded. The two stayed there for a while in their own thoughts. Charlie flicked at a pebble on the ground and Wonka tapped his fingers over themselves. After a moment, Charlie turned to face him again.

"How long do you think it should be until they find us? The Oompa Loompas." Wonka continued to look down at his hands but lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.

"A couple minutes . . . hours . . . years. . . Not too long." He kept tapping at his fingers and held a straight face. Charlie looked back down. It was hard to tell when Mr. Wonka was joking. Suddenly he shivered, and rubbed his arms. Wonka glanced over and paused. "Cold?"

"Just a little," Charlie replied, holding onto his arms over the thick silver jacket. Wonka watched him from the corner of his eye for a moment, then looked back down.

"They'll find us soon," he reassured. He hesitated, then suddenly swung himself up off the wall, walking out from it. "But there's no use in just _sitting here_ while we wait . . ." He stuck on a smile as he stopped and spun around to face Charlie. "Let's brainstorm!" he said with the typical enthusiasm of Mr. Willy Wonka. Charlie smiled but stayed at the wall.

"Mr. Wonka, I don't think we can brainstorm in here. . ." he said softly. Wonka's face fell.

"Why not?" Charlie took in a breath.

"The three necessities of brainstorming . . . Remember?" He counted his fingers as he recited. "Open space and fresh air, Peacefulness with less to hear . . ." Wonka rolled his head with a nod as Charlie counted each one. ". . . and inspirative atmosphere." Charlie paused, looking at the chocolatier with his big eyes. "It's plenty quiet in here, but we don't have a lot of fresh air . . . and . . ." He flicked a pebble on he ground. "I'm not sure about you but I'm not very inspired by rocks. . ." Wonka was looking at the ground with defeat and let his shoulders fall.

"Yah . . ." he sighed, then fussed with his coat for no apparent reason. He sighed softly again and walked over to a rock, leaning back against it, hesitating with his hands in the air, then fluttering his fingers to the tops of his legs. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands without his cane.

A minute passed. Then another. Finally Wonka sighed again, pouting slightly, and kicked a rock.

"Well, I'm bored," he stated, putting a slight emphasis on the word 'bored'. Charlie looked over to him.

"What time is it?" Wonka took out his pocket watch, glanced at it, then snapped it shut and nestled it back inside his jacket.

"6:23," he said, releasing a breath and looking back to the ground. Charlie looked to where Wonka had replaced his watch and paused thoughtfully.

"Mr. Wonka," he asked after a moment. "Where did you get that?" Wonka looked back up curiously.

"What?"

"Your watch," clarified Charlie, pointing to the man's coat pocket. Wonka cocked his head to the side, then pulled out the little timepiece and looked at it. It was gold, new looking as ever, and glistened in the dim light of the cavern. It was simple, in a beautiful way, and when Wonka thought about it, it was one of the few (very few) things that hadn't been customized directly for him.

"Wow . . ." he began, glancing up wistfully. ". . . Years ago . . ."

And it had been years ago.

_Twenty-one years, to be exact, when Willy Wonka opened his first candy shop. He had just bought an empty little store room on the corner of Cherry Street, with barely anything to the right or left of it but dull wall space; the perfect place to start a new business and draw attention. It was much larger than it appeared as well, having a quaint little window front as its entrance, then opening up in back into a whole stockroom. _

_The man who was selling it was a jeweler, and lived in the back room with his wife and two children. He worked as a miner during the summer, and brought back the little he dug up to his store to put on the market as different types of fancy jewelry that every woman in town had their eye on. He was selling the store because he had struck oil in the mine, and was moving with his family to a real house where they wouldn't need to rely on his talent to care for them. Wonka had seized the opportune moment to begin his own career._

" _. . . You've seen the back as well; there's plenty of room in the whole of it," the man said as he stacked up a pile of papers and put them into his brown leather suitcase. Willy Wonka stood in the center of the empty store, looking up at the ceiling. He turned in his spot, examining the room. The man glanced up, eyeing the other man's somewhat odd attire of a long raspberry-purple frock coat and matching top hat. He couldn't be very old, perhaps in his very early twenties, perhaps even younger. _

"_It comes off a wee bit elfin at first, true. But the inside does make up for its appearance," he continued. "Served us all well as a home through the years . . ." The top hatted man in the center of the room continued to keep his chin tilted upwards as he took in his surroundings. The floor was battered and an off gray colour, the same as the walls, and rather dusty. The window glass was cracked and aged, with rings circling to its center, and the lights hanging from the ceiling looked like they were about to fall off. Willy Wonka's big eyed expression didn't change when he responded softly._

"_It's perfect." The jeweler smiled as he tucked away the last of his papers into his bag and snapped it shut. Wonka jumped a bit and came back to focus. _

"_It's a done deal, then?" The older man said with a bearded grin. Wonka gave a short little nod and came back to the counter, taking out the money he had been saving since before he could remember for this very reason, and setting it on the table top. He went back to looking around the room like it was walled with different words and he wanted to read each one. The jeweler picked up the little wad of cash and started to count it. _

"_So . . ." he began in his heavy Scottish accent. "What's to become of this little dwellin' here? If you don't mind me askin'." Willy Wonka turned his head away from the room and to the man at the counter. His eyes were certainly a sight, a striking colour to begin with, and were filled with a childlike energy and life. He smiled and looked down shyly. _

"_. . . Candy store . . ." he said quietly. The jeweler grinned._

"_Ah, a sweet shop, eh? Fine choice, lad. Good location. Especially to draw attention from tha' Prodnose and Slugworth an' Fickelgruber." Willy Wonka looked up._

"_Who?"_

"_Oh, some o' the other sweet makers around town. Always competing against each other like dogs and a steak." The man in the top hat nodded vaguely, and the jeweler raised his stubby finger. "I'd be careful they don't all come after you with torches and pitchforks, now," he said with a laugh, and Willy Wonka smiled gently. The older man then stacked up the money and opened back up his bag. "It's all here, then," he said cheerfully as he slipped the money into his suit case. Something sparkled inside that caught Willy Wonka's eye. He glanced into the bag and noticed a chained golden oval sitting on a pile of papers next to a gold necklace and wrist brace. The jeweler noticed and smiled. _

"_Ah, yeah, just a few things I wasn't able to get rid of before moving out." Wonka tilted his head as he looked at the shimmering circle. The jeweler continued to order the money into his bag, but turned behind him to the door that led to the back room. He called a few names, and a woman and two children around the age of five and six came out with their bags. The woman smiled, and the two young girls dropped their bags and played with each other. Wonka smiled back politely. The jeweler finished putting away the money, then, before re-closing his bag, pulled out the golden pocket watch and held it by the chain to Wonka. _

"_Here," he said with a smile. Wonka stuttered his mouth open to object, but the man set it on the table in front of him with a shrug and smile. "I've no use of it anyhow . . . Just think of it as a bonus with the shop." Wonka paused, then slowly picked up the watch and looked at it. "Well it was a pleasure doing business with you, my good man," the older man continued cheerfully as he picked his suit case up and put on his hat. "I hope the place proves well to your needs." Wonka looked back up quickly._

"_Oh- Thank you very much, sir," he said happily. The man smiled as he turned around once more. _

"_And, eh, what might you name be, by the way?" The soon-to-be chocolatier across the counter opened his eyes attentively and gave a perfect smile. _

"_Wonka," he clarified. "Willy Wonka." The jeweler nodded with a grin as he and his family began out the door. _

"_Pleasure doing business with you then, Mr. Wonka." As they went out the door, the younger of the girls behind them spun around with a cheerful smile._

"_Goodbye, Mr. Wonka!" she chirped as she gave a well practiced curtsy in her bright blue dress and her brown ringlets curled over her cheeks. Wonka smiled, glanced up, then gave a shallow bow as he gentlemanly tipped his hat to her. The girl beamed, obviously thrilled for the desired formal response. Her name was called by her sister outside, and she waved then scurried out the door to the rest of her family as they got into their car to drive away. _

_Wonka giggled softly then looked back down at the golden pocket watch in his hand with gentle curiosity. The only design on it was a small line-like one that ran around its edge. It was gorgeous in the simplest way. It glistened in the light, and Wonka could faintly hear it ticking in the quiet, empty shop. By the look of its unscratched perfect face, it seemed like it could last for years. . ._

" . . . And it has . . ." finished Wonka with a wistful grin as he snapped shut the watch. He tilted his head up thoughtfully. "Haven't really thought about it since then until now. . ." He looked back over to Charlie, who was smiling softly. Wonka paused, then quirked his head the other way. "Why?" He swung the watch by its chain and leaned back coolly with a grin. "Ya like it?" Charlie laughed quietly and nodded.

"Yes," he assured. Wonka looked at the watch again, then stuck it back into his pocket with a sigh, walking over to the wall Charlie was at and slowly sliding down to a sitting position. He sat there for a moment just looking at the cavern ceiling. Charlie was doing the same, and, after about a minute, Wonka spoke.

"What's your favourite colour?" he asked suddenly. Charlie looked over at him. He was just glancing upwards at the cove, acting as anyone else would for a casual conversation. Charlie paused to think about an answer to the somewhat random query.

". . . Green," he replied after a moment, watching Wonka to see what he would do, as if there might be a reason for the spontaneous comment. The chocolatier just blinked thoughtfully. Charlie paused again. "You?" Wonka's head swayed a little and he looked ahead as he thought.

". . . Red," he stated after a moment, his lips slightly pursed. Red was definitely Mr. Wonka's favourite, Charlie thought. It was the colour of his coat. The chocolatier did indeed own many coats of many kinds that Charlie had seen him wear; greens, blues, purples, prints like checkers, circles, zig zags, even multicoloured ones. But the one Charlie thought suited him best and the one Wonka wore most was his maroon red one, and it was definitely his favourite.

"What's your favourite . . . pattern?" asked Wonka out of the blue. Charlie tilted his head.

"Pattern?" Wonka, still gazing upwards, nodded. Charlie thought for a moment, having never thought of the question before.

"Plaid," he replied carefully. "What about you?" Wonka opened his mouth.

"I like . . . . . . swirls," he stated after a moment. Just like the Nut Room floor thought Charlie. "What's your favourite number?" Wonka asked, sounding a little more alive. Charlie smiled. The questions were getting odder as they went along.

". . . Eight, I think . . ." Wonka squinted a little.

"Twenty-four . . . I think . . ." he mirrored. Suddenly his eyes lit up. "What's your favourite candy?" Charlie grinned.

"Chocolate," he stated, and Wonka nearly flew into the air with smiles.

"Hey, me _too_!" Charlie laughed softly. He never would have guessed. Wonka leaned back against the wall again, looking relaxed. He blinked thoughtfully. "How come?" Charlie looked over to him curiously.

"Why is it my favourite?" he verified softly. Wonka nodded at an angle. Charlie thought. Well it tasted good, of course. He had only gotten it once a year, but he didn't have any other candy during the year either. He finally decided on why he liked it. "It reminds me of my family," he said. Wonka knit his bows gently, and Charlie looked over to him. "Why do you like it?" Wonka continued to gaze forward, but lightly smiled.

"It was the first candy I ever had. . ." Charlie thought for a moment.

"I asked you that on the tour. What was your first candy," he recalled, then looked over. "Didn't you remember?" Wonka continued to stare ahead, but furrowed his brow slightly, like he was thinking. Charlie hesitated, then remembered something else. "Was that your . . . flashback?" he asked awkwardly, not quite sure how to use the word. But that was how the chocolatier had described it, so Charlie thought that was how he should refer to it as well. Wonka didn't change his expression but nodded gently. Charlie looked back down at the ground and played with a rock. "Do you remember back all that way?" He kept playing with the rock. "How old were you?" Wonka let out a breath.

"Around you age," he replied. Charlie looked up at him curiously.

"That old?" Wonka's eyebrows were raised and his expression blank. He shook his head a little, seeming uncoordinated, like his thoughts and actions were simultaneous.

"I wasn't supposed to have candy," he said, sounding tired. Charlie looked back at the ground to play with the rock. That made sense, his father being a dentist and all. He didn't know it had taken Mr. Wonka that long to try a piece though.

"Your dad finally gave you your first piece then?" But Wonka shook his head lightly, his appearance a little gloomier.

"He didn't know I'd had it. . ." He paused. "I eventually told him what I wanted to be, though, when I grew up I mean . . ." Wonka's face fell a little. His expression reminded Charlie of the same one he wore when Charlie said he wouldn't come to the factory; hurt. ". . . He didn't seem very happy about it . . ." he continued, his voice quieter. Charlie fidgeted with the rock.

"I'm sure he was happy, Mr. Wonka. . . He probably just didn't know how to show it." Wonka widened his eyes wider as he gazed out to no where. He lightly shook his head once more.

"No . . ." he began, ". . . he showed how he felt pretty well when I got back h-" He stopped short and opened his mouth, glancing down a little. Charlie paused, then decided to assist.

"Home. . .?" Wonka's expression softened, just a little. After that moment, though, that instant, he widened his eyes, quickly glancing over to where Charlie was, and gave a fake pushed on little smile and nod. He released a breath, pursing his lips, then suddenly swung himself off the ground with his cane and got to a standing position. He paused with his mouth opened.

"I'm just . . . gonna walk around a little . . . my feet are falling asleep," he giggled nervously and strode out to wherever he planned on going in the empty little cave.

Charlie stayed sitting there, not quite sure what had just happened, but not feeling well after it. He looked out to where Wonka stood with his cane, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying to erase whatever he was in his mind by looking at absolutely anything and everything there was to look at and holding onto a pleasant high-browed expression. Charlie looked at the ground.

Why hadn't Wonka finished that sentence, anyway? He had just stopped before "went back home". . . Charlie hesitated, thinking of Mr. Wonka's old home, Dr. Wonka's home, where Dr. Wonka's home was . . . They hadn't always lived all the way out there, had they? Wonka would have had to go to school when he was younger. Dr. Wonka would have needed more patients than he'd get where he lived now. But . . . if they hadn't always lived out there-

"_Ow!_"

Charlie looked up to see Wonka let his cane tumble onto the ground and take hold of his right hand. Charlie got up and started over curiously.

Wonka looked at his hand, and winced when he saw a little red slit in the latex. He hesitantly pulled off his purple glove, revealing a smooth pale hand and a little cut on the palm of it. He pouted with dismay, having forgotten about the broken glass knob and his bad habit of wringing his hands around the top when he was feeling . . . less than content. He sighed sharply, and reached into his coat with his other good hand, not noticing Charlie had come up next to him. The boy blinked, finding it rather odd to see Mr. Wonka's hand that colour of . . . hands.

Wonka pulled out a miniature first aid kit, no bigger than a fist, with, where a red cross would usually be, a large red 'W'. He popped it open, pulling out a long bandage, and set the kit down on the ground as he began to wrap the bind around his injured hand, rather awkwardly at that. After a moment of attempted self medication, Charlie glanced over to him then back to his hand.

"Here," he said, taking hold of the bandage, and causing Wonka a jolt of mild surprise. Charlie gently wrapped the binding around the chocolatier's hand, then it up tight enough to keep it there but loose enough to be of comfort. Wonka carefully pulled his hand back, looking it over, then glanced back up at Charlie and giggled anxiously.

"Thanks," he said softly, hesitated, then quickly stretched his glove back on with a squeak. Charlie watched but didn't ask. He never did, and he probably never would. He didn't ask a lot about Willy Wonka. The chocolatier flexed his bandaged hand into his glove, then picked back up the little first aid kit and began putting it away. Charlie noticed something and smiled.

"Pear shaped first air kits?" He remembered that from the elevator wall. Wonka glanced over to him and grinned, patting his coat where he was putting it away.

"For pear shaped pockets." Wonka put away the little white box and sighed. He reached down and picked up his cane, being wary of the glass top. "Gonna need to remember not to use that . . ." he murmured. There was a pause, when suddenly a soft breeze hit the two. Barely a breeze, even, more over a fan from a distance, a whist of thin air. Wonka noticed it, however, and cocked his head to the side. He looked over to where it had come from curiously. He walked over to the wall and held up his hand, feeling for the air. He then got closer, paused, then spun back around and beckoned Charlie with his hand.

"Comm'er . . ." he said excitedly. Charlie scurried over and Wonka pointed out a little slit in the wall; a passage that had been covered by a rock. Charlie peeked through it, then leaned back out.

"Help me move it," he said as he started to push the rock aside. Wonka hesitated, not quite sure, then pushed the upper part of the stone Charlie couldn't reach.

"This is why . . ." he said as he pushed, ". . . it really is a bummer that . . . you're all so . . . short . . ." Charlie chuckled breathlessly as they moved the stone out of the way enough for the two of them to slide through. Charlie popped through, followed by Wonka.

On the other side was a long cavern, apparently already hollowed out. Going from the left to the right was a long tunnel, and going down the center of the tunnel was a pair of tracks. Charlie blinked curiously, then looked up to Wonka, who was suddenly grinning wildly. He looked down to Charlie, then paused, glancing around the room. He spotted something and darted down to the right side of the cavern, to a wall. Charlie followed halfway.

"Mr. Wonka, what is this?" Wonka giggled as he reached the wall where a large green button was.

"Hold on . . ." he said excitedly as he pressed down the button. Nothing happened. Charlie waited, then looked back to Wonka, who to his surprise, was looking directly at him with a little smile, obviously expecting that exact reaction. Then the ground began to rumble, and for a moment Charlie thought it was another avalanche. But Wonka just swayed back smoothly with a grin. It reminded Charlie of when they had moved heir house to the factory. The rumbling grew to more of a loud vibration, and it startled Charlie when he suddenly heard from down the left passageway a

**WoOh-Whoo_OOOOH!_**

It was just then that he recalled something once again from the Great Glass Elevator wall, and looked over to Wonka. He was about to speak when something slide its way on the tracks in front of them. As is slowed, Charlie could tell what it was; a train.

It was rather a small train for making such a racket, but utterly beautiful, with a sharp edged smoke stack, peppermint shaped wheels, and a large red 'W' on the front. The body was silver and absolutely smooth. It slowly chugged to a stop and emitted a puff of gray smoke. Everything was calm again, and after a moment, Charlie turned to Wonka with a smile.

"The train station." Wonka grinned and walked up to the train. He spun to face Charlie again and put his hand to his mouth.

"All aboard!" he called, then dropped his smile and replaced it with a pause. "Well one aboard . . . and me, that makes two . . . so. . ." He did his math as Charlie got onto the train with a giggle. The two boarded the train and Wonka pressed another button in the front, causing it to slowly start up again. It chugged . . . . . . chugged . . . . . . chugged, chugged, chugged chugga chugged, blew its horn, and chugged again until it was blowing out smoke and gaining speed down the tracks.

Charlie and Wonka were at the front of the train. Charlie looked around the little area they were in and noticed a little seat against the wall behind him. He fell into it with an exhausted sigh. Wonka turned around and giggled.

"What's wrong with you?" Charlie smiled.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," he said, his voice proving his statement. Wonka tilted his head to the side, then pulled out his pocket watch. He widened his eyes and took in a breath.

"Oh gosh, it's later than I expected!" He put away his watch, spun back around and pushed on a lever, then commenced on pushing and pulling and twisting all different kinds of buttons and knobs and switches. The train eased its way into full speed. Charlie sat up more.

"What time is it?" Wonka, still facing forward, sighed.

"Eight-fifty. Exactly." He pushed down another lever, and the train gave a little jerk as it switched gears. "We'd better get you home before your mom blows her wings. . ." Charlie leaned back again (he really was very tired), and hoped his mother wouldn't be too worried.

"I didn't know we had made it all the way to the east side of the factory," Wonka said breathlessly, more to himself, once they were going down the darkened tunnel at a fast pace. Charlie looked up.

"What do you mean?" Wonka grinned.

"Well, even though they're still digging downwards, the mine ends on the east side of the factory where the train circles. That wasn't the actual station itself, though; the actual station is all the way on the _west_," he swung his arm and pointed out the right side of the train, "side of the building!" Charlie looked to where he pointed, then back up to him.

"The train goes all around the factory?" Wonka nodded proudly.

"Yup."

"How do we get to the Chocolate Room, then?" Wonka turned to face him and smiled.

"Now didn't you see on the map? We can cut straight through to the Chocolate Room." Charlie thought for a moment, then noticed a bright green lever by Wonka's knee and remembered something; the green line on the map, the one that hadn't had a label. That was for the train. Charlie smiled up to the chocolatier.

"So we don't need to go all the way around the factory until we get there?"

Wonka grinned excitedly, and reached out to the green lever next to him.

"Not if I do this," he said with breathless glee as he pulled it towards him, and the train went jerking to the right as it began down another dark tunnel and to their destination.

* * *

Charlie Bucket and Willy Wonka jumped out of the elegant silver train as it eased its way to a stop on its tracks. They walked out on the platform, which narrowed as they went, and it opened up to the Chocolate Room. The platform was small in the great stone wall of the room, hardly visible at all, and it didn't surprise Charlie that he had never noticed it before. There were probably still other things he'd yet to notice in the Chocolate Room. They stepped onto the grass and up towards the boy's house. Once nearly in front of it, Charlie looked over to Wonka, who happened to be checking his pocket watch at the moment anyway. The Chocolate Room was already dark.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Nine O-four," Wonka sighed.

"Do you think Mum'll be m-"

"Good HEAVENS, where have you two _been?"_ Both Wonka and Charlie looked ahead at the figure clutching her skirt and scampering close to them. Charlie slowed down, and Wonka stopped completely. "I've been worried out of my _mind!_" Mrs. Bucket noticed their apparel of sugar coated winter coats and hard hats. "What happened?" Charlie took off his hat.

"Mum, I'm really sorry. We were in the mine, and-"

"Mine?"

"The rock candy mine, and there was an avalanche, so we-" No sooner had Charlie gotten the word "avalanche" out was Mrs. Bucket clutching him like he's fall apart if she didn't.

"An avalanche? Oh, no wonder you're both so covered in dust! Come on, come on, get inside and wash up and- _Charlie,_ you're _freezing!_" She exclaimed and she put both her hands on his pale little cheeks.

"It was cold down there, Mum, that's why we wore th-" She squished him again.

"Oh goodness, come inside, come on, you two can wash up, and I'll make something warm to drink, and . . ." she went on in one breathless insistence as she ushered Charlie inside. Charlie went in front of his mother, and Wonka, who was standing still where he'd stopped, swayed awkwardly.

You _two? _Did that mean . . . him? But his question was answered when Mrs. Bucket turned back around to him and beckoned with her hand. "Well, come on. I'm sure you're no warmer than he." She gave him the friendly smile that always made everything feel so much less daunting, and he hesitated, then carefully walked into the house behind the others.

Mrs. Bucket shut the door behind him, then rushed over to the kitchen and put some hot water onto he stove. A fire was blazing. Charlie had taken off his jacket and hat and dropped them by the coat hanger. He was over by his father at the moment, talking, probably telling him of his day. The grandparents were already asleep. Wonka took off his hard hat and jacket and carefully set them on the coat hanger, as well as leaning his broken cane against the wall. He smoothed out his maroon coat, and looked up to the kitchen where Mrs. Bucket was bustling about. He fidgeted with his gloves for a moment, particularly the right one, which was coming off due to the bandage underneath, then walked over to the Charlie's mother.

"I'm . . . terribly sorry about all this, Mrs. Bucket," he said when he'd approached her at the stove. She looked over.

"Oh, don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Wonka, these things happen," she assured him as she moved the pot off the stove. "Especially in a place like this. I've begun to believe there's no telling what could happen," she laughed softly. "As long as you two are alright, there's really nothing to worry about." There was that 'you two' again. The tea pot started to whistle, and Mrs. Bucket hurried over to take it off. She did so, then looked back up to Wonka. "Oh, go on and sit down, dear. Make yourself at home." Wonka paused, then nodded and made his way over to the sofa where Charlie was now sitting. The chocolatier carefully sat down on the right side of the sofa by the arm. Charlie looked over to him and smiled cheerfully. Before Wonka could respond in one way or another, Mrs. Bucket appeared in front of them with a tray of two bowls and two mugs.

"Here you are," she said as she handed them each a mug and set the tray with their supper on the table in front of them. Charlie grinned.

"Thanks Mum," he said and he went to take a sip. Wonka nodded.

"Oh- Thank you." Mrs. Bucket sighed peacefully and went back over to the stove, stirring the soup in the pot. Wonka looked into his mug at the dark brown liquid inside. He tilted his head to the side, then cautiously took a sip. To his left, Charlie spoke up.

"It's hot chocolate, you know," he assured him. Wonka nodded as he looked over, then paused and giggled at Charlie's chocolate moustache. The boy, sensing what was so funny, smiled and wiped off his mouth, taking another sip of chocolate and setting it down on the table. He went to work with his supper. Wonka hid a smile behind his mug, then set it down on the table and decided to do the same. From the kitchen, Mrs. Bucket tightened her apron.

"So, Charlie, there was an _avalanche_?" she asked curiously. Charlie sipped at his soup and nodded.

"Yeah, but we're fine, mum. I promise." Mrs. Bucket let out a breath.

"Still, that must have been awfully frightening!" Charlie swallowed down another spoonful of soup and shrugged.

"I guess. But we had the hard hats, so we didn't get hurt. . ." He looked over to Wonka's hand, then back to his mother. "Well, not from the avalanche anyway. In the crash, Mr. Wonka's cane top broke, and he cut his hand on that, but . . ." Charlie trailed off as his mother's eyes went wide and she looked towards the chocolatier on the sofa. Wonka looked up at the sound of his name.

"Hmm?" he said as he swallowed. Mrs. Bucket was looking at him.

"Oh my, is that so?" She was addressing him, and he hesitated before opening his mouth. He paused again and gave a sideways little nod and shrug.

"I-it's nothing . . . just . . ." He looked down at his hand, then carefully took off his glove and held his bandaged hand up a little. Mrs. Bucket gave a mild gasp and turned to Charlie.

"You needed to wrap it up? Oh . . ." She trailed off as she set down the towel she'd been holding and bustled over to Wonka on the couch. She sat down on the sofa arm and took gentle hold of his hand. He straightened up nervously. "Well, let's see . . ." she said as she unwrapped his hand, revealing the little inch-long gash. Wonka winced again, and looked away a bit.

"Oh," Charlie's mother sighed with dismay. "You poor dear," she said, still looking at his palm, as she gently set her hand on his cheek. Wonka took in a breath, then released it and gently smiled as she took her hand back and continued examining his. He cleared his throat, feeling more comfortable, and looked back to his cut.

". . . Does . . . that look infected to you?" Charlie grinned to himself on the other side of the sofa as he pretended to finish his dinner.

About an hour later, once they were both finished with their meals, the two chocolatiers sat on the sofa with chocolate filled mugs. Wonka had insisted he leave after supper, but Mrs. Bucket wouldn't let him and sat him back down with another mug of hot chocolate. So there he sat, not necessarily unhappy about it.

Charlie had told his parents, in detail, about his 'adventure' that day, and even though Wonka had been there when it all happened, he as well listened to the story with careful ears. Charlie told them about how they had cracked the candy wall earlier that day, then set off deeper into the cave. And he told about how they skipped rocks, and then the avalanche happened. He told about where Mr. Wonka had gotten his pocket watch (Wonka himself had the pleasure of adding to that part of the story as well.) He told of how they found the crack in the wall of the cave that led to the train station, but Wonka noticed a part Charlie had left out. He didn't say anything about their . . . conversation before Wonka cut his hand. The chocolatier had been sure, within all of the boy's excited rambling, Charlie would have let it slip if not mention it on purpose. He seemed to let other things like that out without any deeper thought to them, like Wonka's pocket watch, or his hand. But those had been different anyway . . .

The chocolatier looked up at Mr. Bucket reading in his chair and Mrs. Bucket cleaning in the kitchen. He looked back down into his mug. Well, whether Charlie was aware of it, even fully understood it, or not, Wonka was thankful with all he had that it hadn't mentioned by the boy. It wasn't that he didn't like his family. It was just easier that way . . .

Suddenly Wonka released a little gasp as he felt a modest weight on his left arm. He looked over and raised his eyebrows. Charlie was asleep. He _had_ been tired. Wonka slowly gave a soft smile and brushed some remaining sugar dust off of the shoulder of the little boy, who nestled closer into the chocolatier's arm in sleep. Wonka paused, then leaned back again and took another little sip of hot chocolate, deciding not to leave just yet.

He wouldn't want to wake him.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Once again, I'm terribly sorry about the really REALLY LONG delay.

I'd blame it on my computer, but he might shut down on me. We get along fine usually, but sometimes we can't help but have little spats, and that's when the delays occur. I promise to try and get along if he does.

**The Three Rules of Brainstorming:** Clever, isn't he? **:giggle:** Well, it sounded like a "Wonka-ish" kinda thing Mr. Wonka would teach Charlie. Those rules work, too. . .

P.S.

I know inspirative is not a word.

But if they ever make a Wonka dictionary

(and they will)

It'll be in there.

**The opportune moment:** Alright, alright, I am SORRY but I could simply not help it . . . Come on, the PotC 2 trailer was just released (all my love to miss Violet Beauregard on the forum for posting the link to download it on yousendit a while ago; darling, you made my life a brighter place that day) and I am freaking, flipping, wigging out, blowing my wings, and everything else. I mean, come on, there are cannibals. Cannibals make everything more interesting. Right?

**Pear Shaped First Aid Kits:** Kay, well, pears are pretty small, so I always kind of thought of those as portable little first aid kits. As for the pear shaped pockets, I'm not sure where Mr. Wonka gets coats with those, so you'll have to ask him yourself.

**Chapter 8 Preview:** All that time I couldn't write wasn't wasted, I assure you. Lots of brainstorming. Lots.

Well, the after math of Miss Veruca Salt (which I have been _longing _to do since I started this story), and we'll see everything fits in to everything else. . . Also, Wonka gets a surprise . . .


	8. A Few New Things to Talk About

Wow 

Know what, I won't even try to explain my excuses.

Initial delay was from **:don don DON music and lightening:** Mid term exams at school. **:gasp from the audience: **Yah . . . Second delay was because I was flippin GROUNDED from computer for a flippin MONTH, which didn't help at all. And lastly, I've been having major writers block ever since the long wait . . . but! **:golden light:** Just this morning in the shower (no one take that the wrong way), I had a BURST OF INSPIRATION! It all just CAME to me! So I'm happy to say that things really should be getting back on track now.

REVIEWERS!

Ta Maman (aka Ziggeh): I love writing extra little things about the characters, especially Wonka. I'm glad you like it, and you aren't one of those people that are, like, **:note naisly voice:** "Yah, we never heard anything about where he got his pocket watch, you made that up." -.-;

Oracle Phoenix: Awww . . . I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE IT! **:hugs self:** And I know, I loved how in the end of the movie, Wonka and Charlie start talking about raspberry kites, and Mrs. Bucket kind of "boys"s them_ both_. I just love it, cuz it reminded me of like if Charlie was having a friend from school stay for dinner, ya know? That's like how she was to the two of them.

ChaosOfTheUniverce: Don't you just love that warm fuzziness? I'm glad you like it, and I promise I'll do my very best to get the next chapter up soon.

Piscaria: Awkwardness is always fun to establish in a story . . . heheh. . . as well as Wonka's shyness, since he's like NEVER shy, because he hadn't in a long time been in the presence of someone who's going to actually worry over whether he's ok or not.

DemiDevil: . . . . . . **:tremble**: don't hurt me! . . . If you don't send over the whangdoodles, I'll send over a box of Girl Scout cookiiiies . . . **:hopeful smile:** I liked your fairness on the last chapter, I really did! I appreciate you not just saying it was your favourite chapter, because that's what I look for when people review; what they liked and didn't. And to be honest . . . **:looks around and beckons closer:** . . . . _that wasn't chapter one of my favourites either._

Bogumil: YAAAY NEW REVIEWER! I, myself, am unspeakably glad that_ you're_ unspeakably glad for the story! Because I'm just a good person like that and it makes me happy when others are happy. . . Actually, no, I just really like that no one hates my story (yet). Best wishes for the New Year to you too!

Clymestra (aka BOBCUT?): . . . . . . I'm terribly about that tingly feeling . . . I sometimes get that too, right down in the tips of my fingers . . . but that's usually when I wake up and find I've slept with my arm turned the wrong way underneath me all night. I . . . do hope you get well. O.o

Jon'ic Recheio: Here you are, my dear! I'm so terribly sorry I worried you like that . . . But I _can_ promise, that no matter how long a chapter might take, I won't drop the story altogether. I have a need to finish it now that it's been started.

* * *

Chapter 8

**A Few New Things to Talk About

* * *

**

Sun washed over the town like spilled milk, filling every little crevice with light. What they said was true about April showers: All the tiny buds that had slept in during the winter were finally opening up their petals and rubbing their eyes. You could scarcely hear the last birds flying back from the South.

The afternoon was less than busy, only a few scattered people meandering about the street shops, finishing up their daily list of things to do. In the center of this quiet town sat the most noticeable figure there; Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, the largest, most famous chocolate factory in the world. This factory was fifty times as big as any other, but that alone was not what made it so well-known. The reason for its fame was at the most, its owner, Mr. Willy Wonka.

Now, a few months ago, if you were to walk up to a person and say, "I beg pardon, sir, but who owns that marvelous factory there?" the initial reaction you would get would be a sputter of laughter and look of awe. The factory was very well-known, indeed. But eventually, once their senses were regained, they would tell you, "Why, that's Willy Wonka's! He's the greatest chocolate maker in the world, and that's his chocolate factory!" Lately, however, if you were to approach someone with the same inquiry, you more than likely would not receive any answer at all, but simply be swept into a thickening rant of gossip on the subject.

It was true that, after some time, people had come realize that Willy Wonka's factory tour in February had not simply been for profit, or publicity, or companionship. Willy Wonka had no need for more money or publicity, and, as many could tell from his history, he was not one that had any particular desire for other human company. No, people had been sure that none of these were the reasons for the factory tour in the beginning of the year. And with these new found suspicions, the media was digging for some information.

One fact, though, was absolutely certain when it came down to the tour and the tourists:

Five went in, four came out.

Reporters were beating themselves in the head for not catching the name of the fifth Golden Ticket winner before the gates opened that day and they saw the last of him. At the end of the day, he was the only one that didn't come out fudged, blued, sullied, or stretched. In fact, he was the only one that didn't come out at all.

But after weeks of digging, and after an empty little patch of land at the end of town was finally noticed, reporters brewed up a name. That name was currently rushing through the town streets like a flood: Bucket.

This was the name that was reaching each person's ear like a plague, and one silent question was now on everyone's lips.

"Who's Charlie Bucket?"

* * *

Mrs. Bucket flipped on their broken down little television and took a step back. The monitor was all scribbles. She reached down and bent the antenna a different way.

"Try twisting it," suggested Grandpa Joe from the bed after the woman's numerous attempts to clear the screen failed. So Mrs. Bucket twisted it, and the monitor de-fuzzed, going onto the news.

"Thank you, Joe," she said as she went back to the dishes, and everyone set their focus onto the television. Showing on the news were a dozen reporters interviewing a man in swim trunks and a fluffy white robe.

"Mr. Salt, what did you do after the factory tour?" The man with the gray hair swirled over like an ice cream cup folded his hands.

"Well, as you can see gentlemen, this is not our usual setting; we're in our beach house," he said (and indeed the beach house looked like a regular mansion. It seemed that wherever the Salts went, they lived like royalty.) "We decided to take off on an early spring vacation, just to loosen everything up." The smiling little girl next to him was in a royal blue striped swim suit with a ruffled skirt ending. Her hair was all in curls. Another reporter jutted up to her father.

"And what if any actions to you plan to take on behalf of your predicament while in the Wonka factory?" Mr. Salt opened his mouth casually, but the little girl turned her head up to him.

"Daddy, I want to sue." Her father glanced down to her calmly.

"Veruca, you're not suing anybody, now go upstairs and play." Veruca turned to face her father stubbornly.

"But daddy-"

"No 'buts' young lady, now march." His wife, who was sunbathing on a long chair in oversized sunglasses next to him, picked up her drink from a table.

"Mind your father, darling," she said languidly as she took a sip. Veruca pouted angrily, but turned around and began to stomp up their blue stairs. The reporter turned the microphone back to Mr. Salt.

"So you don't intend on pressing charges?" Mr. Salt chuckled and waved a hand, keeping his chin tilted nobly upwards.

"Heavens no, for what? All she needed was a bath." Veruca called down from the top of the steps through huffily clenched teeth.

"And another, and _another_, and ANOTHER_-_" Her father sighed and turned around.

"Veruca darling, go on upstairs, and I promise we'll get you that pool you wanted later today if you're good." Veruca's eyes lit up, and she nodded happily then rushed upstairs. Mr. Salt turned back around to face the reporters.

"Kids, right?" he chuckled. A female reporter jumped in front of the others with her microphone.

"And Mr. Salt, what is your nut business doing while you're away?" Mr. Salt straightened himself up once again in his naturally dignified manner.

"Well, I didn't see any harm done in giving them all some time off as well. Just until we return."

But, though one couldn't directly track it, just a bit of harm may have been done in the long run.

After the pox virus that swept over Scotland passed over, the Red Squirrels in South Scotland Project made a stand to bring back up the Red Squirrel population that had so drastically declined. One of their efforts had been placing squirrel feeders in every backyard, which sent the squirrel feeder making industry (as incredulous as it sounds) soaring in profits.

But, with the biggest nut business in England temporarily shut down, the squirrel feeder business in Scotland, which had grown twice its size over the time, was left sadly nut-less without its major provider, causing its bankruptcy.

This sudden drop in squirrel feeders led to the failure of the squirrel feeder depending wood industry in England,

Which led to the closest paper making industry going out of business,

Which led to the business that sent out school supplies going down without any paper,

Which happened to be the same business that the school of Mrs. Bucket's son got their supplies from,

Which was why she had needed to wrap him in five extra layers of clothing near the end of winter. Without supplies, the school had nothing to sell to the children, so had no extra income to pay for heating. It was certainly fortunate that spring had begun.

Mrs. Bucket flipped off of the news and sighed.

"Well that one hasn't changed much," grumbled Grandpa George from bed. His daughter shrugged a bit and dusted the top of the television set.

"Her parents have had a change of mind, though . . . I suppose . . ." Suddenly the cottage door creaked open and Mr. Bucket came walking through. His wife set down her dusting cloth and brushed her hands as she came up to him. "Oh, hello dear," she said as she pecked him on the cheek. "Why might you be home so early?" Mr. Bucket raised his eyebrows and hung up his coat.

"I . . . thought it best to walk Charlie home today . . . so he knew to go through the side entrance from now on . . ." He hung up his hat and raised his eyebrows to her. "Things are beginning to 'clear up'." Mrs. Bucket dropped her shoulders and sighed with soft dismay, but her son scrambled through the door before she could say another word.

"Hi mum!" Charlie called as he dropped his bag by the coat rack. "Is Mr. Wonka here yet?" Mrs. Bucket smiled and went back to dusting.

"Not yet, darling."

"Good," Charlie said breathlessly, all smiles. His mother looked over to him, still polishing the table top.

"And why is that good, Charlie?" she laughed curiously. Charlie turned his bright olive eyes up to her excitedly.

"Mum," he began as he shut the door, "We need to bake a cake."

* * *

Willy Wonka was whistling softly as he strolled down the dark green hallway and to the elevator. He turned a corner to the lift's doors and tapped the call button, but the button blinked red and nothing happened. Wonka frowned, but after a moment rolled his eyes, remembering he'd sent the elevator into maintenance check the night before after it made quite a few growling noises at him during his last ride. He took a step back and pulled out his pocket watch.

It was three thirteen.

He made a face and snapped it shut again. Charlie was probably already at his house by now anyway, so there was no point in Wonka trying to meet him as he'd gotten used to doing, but it would take a while to get to the Chocolate Room without the elevator. The chocolatier let out a breath then looked up to the wall, to a big white button. He pressed the button down and spoke softly into the monitor next to it.

"Eh . . . . . . Charlie?" He could hear his voice echoing down the hall from the different rooms it was being projected into. ". . . Chaaaaarlie . . . Charlie Charlie . . ." He waited for a moment, then leaned forward again, taking in a breath. "Hey, CHARLIE--"

"_---Hi Mr. Wonka!--"_

Wonka bounced away from the wall at the sudden response, hearing the echo of the other rooms cut off. He opened his mouth and rubbed his ear, then leaned forward and held down the button again.

"Oh there you are!" He said with a grin, and cleared his throat. "I . . . just thought I'd tell you . . . that the elevator's down!" He let go.

"_--- Okay,"_ Charlie replied breathlessly through the voice box.

Wonka leaned forward again and held the button.

"Soooo . . . it's gonna take me a little longer to get to the Chocolate Room today . . ." He paused, glancing up as he waited for a response. "Alright?" There was hardly a hesitation on the other end.

"_--- Okay, Mr. Wonka, that's alright! I have a lot of homework today anyway. - Take your time!-"_ Wonka frowned then held down the button.

" . . . Yah sure?" The scratchy voice responded enthusiastically.

"_---Yah!"_ Wonka fiddled with his cane then held down the button once more.

"Mkay . . . then I'll see ya in a bit." He let go. No answer. " . . . Bye . . ."

"_--- Bye!-"_ There was a little clunk as Charlie obviously let go of the button and ran off to whatever he seemed to be in the middle of doing. Wonka waved his fingers above the button for a minute, not quite sure what to do with himself now, then squeezed his hand into a squeaky fist and pulled it down next to him. He turned around in the hallway, letting out a breath.

"Oookay," he said to himself and as he dropped both hands gently on the top of his cane. "Now . . ." There were several different hallways leading out from the little dead end to the elevator. They all looked exactly the same. Blowing out some air, he began down the equally green corridor in front of him. . .

* * *

Wonka approached the little Bucket house in the Chocolate Room and checked the time, giving his watch a look when he did, because Willy Wonka always liked to make good time, and the time he made was never as good as the time he would have wanted it to be. Snapping his watch back shut and dropping it into his inside pocket, he twirled his cane around and approached the door to the Bucket house. He knocked on the door and began fussing with his jacket. He glanced back up when no one answered after a moment, knocked again, then went back to straightening up his collar to more comfort. He popped it up correctly and sighed approvingly to himself, then glanced back at the door. Wonka paused, then curiously rapped on the door once more. Still without any answer, he looked down, casting a spell over the doorknob with his fingertips, then took hold of it. With a slow turn, he gave the door a push, letting it gently swing open as he stayed in the doorway.

" . . . Heeello?" he sang softly. No answer. He frowned, then hesitantly stepped inside, leaving the door open, and carefully leaning around the corner to see where everyone was. After a moment he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around, stumbling back and catching his hat to see Mrs. Bucket right in front of him. After straightening it back to the proper position on his head, he looked forward again and blinked. Mr. Bucket had just gotten behind his wife, who was holding a cake. Charlie was grinning suspiciously next to her. Before anyone could speak, Mrs. Bucket pulled up a finger into the air and wagged it at the chocolatier.

"Willy Wonka!" she scolded. "Shame on you for not telling us it was your birthday!" Wonka blinked again.

"Birth . . . day?" he repeated, looking down curiously at the rather sloppy chocolate cake and the half dozen candles it housed as Mrs. Bucket continued.

"Lucky for us Charlie found out from your father his last visit it was today, or we'd have never known," she said, looking down at Charlie, who looked up, then smiled guiltily over to Wonka. The chocolatier looked back, then from the grinning Charlie to the rest of the three. He quickly opened his eyes a little wider.

"Oh! Ya," he began, knitting his brows and glancing to the left. "Must have slipped my mind . . ." He looked back up and giggled uncertainly. The cheerful three just smiled.

"Well go on!" Mrs. Bucket insisted. "Make a wish!"

Wonka blinked once more, slowly tilting his head down to Charlie, who just looked up at him with his big eyes. Wonka tilted his head back up again.

" . . . Why?" he asked, squinting at the demand. The three stared blankly at him.

"For your candles, of course!" Mrs. Bucket laughed, raising up the cake. Wonka looked down at it then quickly opened his mouth.

"Oh!" he realized, hesitating then nodding crookedly. "Yah . . ." He giggled nervously, paused, then carefully leaned down and blew out his candles.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Charlie asked as the Great Glass Elevator, having survived maintenance, slid closed its doors. Wonka took in a concentrated breath to start his sentence, glancing upwards. Charlie looked through the doors at the house they had just left.

"Well, the thingies need to be sorted, there's a huge order of grape nuggets due for Brazil next Tuesday . . . the incinerator blew a fuse and has been spitting out garbage since 11:30 last night . . . all the belching bon bons have the hiccups, and twelve of the workers in the Golden Finger Licking Dept. can't find their spoons." He stopped and paused blankly for a moment, then waved a hand as he turned to face the button panel. "But let's not do any of that. Let's . . ." Suddenly he shot upright again and spun to face Charlie, giving his arm a little wack. "Let's go show you my room! Oh, yah . . ." he turned back to the buttons no sooner had he said it, and punched the one that read "Residence". The elevator gave a jolt and began off. Charlie looked back up to Wonka, who continued.

"Just a little stop, then we can do all the boring stuff and/or dump that for fun-ner stuff . . . I did say I'd show you where _my_ quarters of the factory were, anyway," he said nodding to himself. "We can stop by my office too, ya know . . . I mean, it is just a button away . . ." He grinned down to Charlie. "Kinda get ya ta," he wriggled his fingers in the air, "know the factory a little better. . . Besides, there's pro'lly something I need to get from there . . . papers . . . 'r something . . ." He made a face, looking like the idea of paperwork was the equivalent of getting a shot. They swerved to the right and the lift stopped. Wonka grinned as the doors opened, leaving the elevator and its occupants face to face with a door. "_Here_ we are!"

The door had two knobs, was the first thing Charlie noticed. The first was small and knee level, or just below. The second was at the usual height and size a doorknob should be. Wonka reached for that knob and swung the door open. Behind the first door was a short hallway, no longer than 3 ½ steps long, with a bright red carpet down the center. At the end of the carpet was another door. This second door was nearly exactly the same as the first; smooth shiny wood, shaped with swirls in the corners, and a large W in the middle of it. Only, this door had just one knob, the right height, as well as a key hole beneath it. Also this door was, it seemed, just a _bit_ larger than the first. The hallway expanded a little as well. Wonka stepped down the little hallway and up to the door, turning the knob and pushing it open in one fluent motion. Charlie came up behind the chocolatier and the open door as the man stepped in.

Wonka's room certainly did fit his character. The room was round, walls a dark red, and a fluffy white carpet covered the floor. A huge bed against the far wall was a kind of twisted antique style, and populated by _hundreds_ of embroidered pillows as well as a deep purple quilt. There was a circular window that took up nearly the entire right wall. To the left was what must have been a built in closet, as well as a little doorway that lead into another room. To the left of the entrance Charlie stood in was a large bookshelf. It was a beautiful room.

Wonka strode in with his cane twirling and stopped near that bookshelf, pulling one of the shelves out longer, picking up a few papers, stacking them, then dropping them back to a messy pile and pushing the shelf back in. He pulled out another and flipped through a book. Charlie stepped just into the doorway, looking at the room's whole. Wonka was still shuffling aimlessly through books and papers but glanced over at the little boy.

"Well come on, Charlie. The room's in here, not out there," he giggled softly. Charlie smiled meekly and stepped out of the doorway. When he looked up, he could see the ceiling was much higher than he thought. He glanced back down and over to the window, then walked up in front of it. It was an amazing window, more twice as big all around than him.

" . . . You really have a window in your room, Mr. Wonka?" he asked after a moment. The chocolatier didn't look up but shrugged.

"Yah why not?" he said, frowning at the book in his hands and snapping it shut with a little dust cloud, sticking it back on the shelf. Charlie paused, still looking out.

"How come no one has ever noticed it from outside?" Wonka glanced up and grinned as he pulled out another book.

"One-way," he clarified. Charlie turned around.

"So people can't see it?" Wonka looked back down into his book but held up a gloved finger and thumb and wagged it toward the window.

"I could make faces out that thing all day and no one would ever know." Charlie smiled and turned to look out again. The view was fantastic.

He could see all the street shops and roads . . . he thought he could even see the corner of his school. And just down the center road, at the very other end of town, he could see an empty little patch of land, with a broken fence along side and the remains of what once must have been a garden. The small figure of a person getting out of their truck and walking over to the house, then, began hammering into the ground a sign, too small to decipher.

There were times when Charlie missed his old home.

But Charlie knew he was happier in the factory than he had ever been there. Besides, he still had everything that meant home to him. His same bedroom, his same house, his same family: in fact, as long as Charlie had that last bit, he was always at home. There was only one thing about his old home that he couldn't have back: the view from his bedroom window of the factory. And he missed that.

Charlie let out a quiet breath, gazing out to the quiet town. Wonka frowned again, giving the impression of utter boredom from any member of his small library, snapped his book shut and looked up. He looked over to a door, then gave a little whistle. Charlie turned around, and Wonka nodded to the doorway next to his closet and he began to towards it. "Comm'ere, I'll show ya over here . . ." Charlie looked out the window then back once more and quickly began to follow.

There was a long curved sofa in the center, and a fireplace in front of that in the room they entered. Wonka swayed to a little stop, and Charlie came in behind him. The chocolatier laid both hands on his cane, switching to "tour guide mode".

"This is like a sitting room," he informed. "This is where you could . . . sit. . ." Charlie stepped a little more into the room as there was a knock on the door back in the last. Wonka twirled around and leaned a little to peek through the door, then went into the bedroom. Charlie turned around and went to the doorway to see if he should follow. Wonka swung open the door to face a little worker, who beckoned him closer. The chocolatier squatted down and listened, occasionally giving a responding little, "Uh huh. . ."

After a moment, Charlie turned back to face the room he was in. He walked over to the sofa, paused, and carefully sat down. He noticed a round, white little remote on the cushion next to him, and picked it up curiously. Fiddling with it for a second, he pressed a button, causing a number of different speakers to come out of the different walls and sound full blast of the radio. Charlie jumped and quickly pushed the button again, sending the speakers quietly back into the wall. He looked back down at the remote and read the buttons. One said "Television", but there wasn't a television set in the room. He carefully pushed it, and the painting above the fireplace turned around into a big television screen. Charlie smiled and pushed it again, turning it back to the picture of a little bridge over a flower-covered pond. He looked down again. There were a lot of buttons on it for such a small remote. There were the two that read "Stereo" and "Television", then there was "Telephone", "White Wash", "Window", "Efexit", "Roomba", "Room Service" . . .

Charlie set the remote back down on the sofa and stood up, wandering towards the far wall, towards the fire. The fireplace was enormous, not to mention_ very_ warm. The little boy was looking at the different pictures and things as he walked along the wall when he stumbled over the end of the rug, bumping into something. He bent down to fix the curled rug, then stood up to see what he had bumped. It was a dresser, but hadn't felt like he had expected. Charlie walked to the front and knocked on its side. Sure enough, it didn't sound like there was anything at all in it. He held up one the drawer's handles with a old squeak and decided the dresser must have not been used for much else than a table top. There was a vase, a little box, and a few papers on it. Thinking this, he noticed something at the base of the dresser. He bent down and saw that the bottom drawer wasn't shut all the way, just a crack open.

Charlie tilted his head curiously, seeing something through the crack. Despite his inner instincts, he hesitantly pulled the drawer out, just a little. Inside was a paper, and Charlie took it out. Actually, it was a photograph. Charlie sat down so he didn't need to be on his knees anymore and looked the picture over. It had fold lines on it, and a small tear in the top. It must have been old. There were two people, one whom Charlie recognized as a younger Dr. Wonka, still wearing his white dentist's coat. The second was a little boy, probably around Charlie's age, wearing what must have been a school uniform. He had something around his head; it looked like a big set of braces, and Charlie tried not to smile. They were standing in front of a row of townhouses, in front of one in particular, that looked a lot like Dr. Wonka's house . . . But it couldn't be, because there were others beside it. . .

Charlie looked at the picture, then slipped it back into the drawer and slid it closed. He stood up and brushed off his knees, turning around just as Willy Wonka and his walking stick clicked up into the doorway. Wonka looked up and grinned.

"Hey Charlie! Sorry 'bout that, I was just informed that the big boiler in the boiler and girler room is acting up, so I thought we could stop by my office and then check that out! They said it was about fifteen minutes till it blows up," he said, perfectly carefree. Charlie just stood there for a moment while the chocolatier smiled.

"Well shouldn't we go there now, then . . .?" he asked. Wonka twirled around and waved a hand off to it as he started towards the main door. Charlie followed.

"I need to grab the blueprints for the machine from my desk, anyway. Besides, they always overestimate time . . ." he said as he opened up the door, allowing a second for Charlie to scurry out, then closed it and locked it with a little gold key. He set down towards the second door and opened that up.

"Don't you mean underestimate?" asked Charlie from behind him. Wonka tapped the button to the elevator and stepped in.

". . . No . . . ?" he answered with a little smile, like he didn't know what the point of the question was. The elevator doors slid shut again.

When they reopened, Charlie was somewhat happy to see a regularly sized hallway again. This one had white walls and a blue carpet, with lots of space in between. Wonka stepped out gracefully, cane in front of him, and began his way down the corridor to the left, Charlie at his heels.

"Ya know," he began, probably more to himself, tilting his head a little with a regular, eerie smile, "The Great Glass Elevator is really just down the hall from my office . . . I never seem to remember that when I'm in a hurry . . . which doesn't make_ any_ sense at _all_ . . ." After turning a corner or two, they stopped in front of a large wooden door, which Wonka pushed open without effort or a key.

Wonka's office was that of any other average business man's. The walls were a dark shade of blue, and the one to the right had an enormous circular window in it. There were bright white curtains hanging from the window, each fitted with an elegant dark red "W" in the center, like in his room, and there was an embroidered carpet across the floor. He had an armchair in the left corner of the room, with a little bowl of candy on the table next to it. There were papers_ all_ over the desk that sat in front of the window, and the far wall was completely file drawers and cabinets. The left wall was covered entirely by map. There were lots of pins marking different places on the map, and right in front of that wall was a globe.

It may have been a _bit_ different that the average business man's office. But not much. Charlie smiled. Wonka walked over to his desk and picked up a paper. He looked at it for a moment, then casually tossed it over his shoulder and picked up another. The paper went fluttering to the floor. Charlie was looking at the paper when he heard a noise from the corner of the room. He looked over and gave a little squeak when a little round thing came sliding across the carpet and up to the paper. Wonka looked up at Charlie, then down to what he was looking at and grinned, looking back to the papers on his desk.

"Oh don't worry about that, that's just Rita," he said, bending down and opening up a drawer. Charlie didn't say a word, but watched warily as the little thing on the ground buzzed over to the paper, paused for a moment, then sucked it up like a vacuum. Charlie blinked, then looked up, where the same paper came sliding out of a little slit in the ceiling and fluttered back onto Wonka's desk neatly. Wonka didn't seem to notice it. Charlie watched the machine flurry its way back to the wall, where a little hole slid open, letting the thing back in, then shut again. Charlie hesitantly walked a curved path around "Rita's" hole, and up to Wonka's desk, where the chocolatier was currently behind his desk, rummaging through drawers.

Wonka popped back up after a minute with a frustrated pout. He looked to the far wall, then maneuvered around his desk and over to the file cabinets, pulling one open and shuffling through it with quick fingers. Charlie looked over to the window and noticed a telescope. He walked around the desk and up to it. After a moment, he carefully peered through, aiming it at the buildings below.

He could see _everything. _He could see all the street shops and which one each was. He could read the street signs. He could see the flower pots on each house's window sill. When he turned the telescope up, he could see all the rooftops of all the buildings in town. At the end of the road, he could see a sunken patch of land, and a "For Sale" in front of it. When he turned the telescope higher, he thought he could even see the edge of the next town. And when he moved the telescope back down a little, he could see . . . nothing.

Charlie tilted his head and moved the telescope away, seeing he'd been aiming at something too close to see: a person. A number of people, actually. A small, but gradually growing, crowd in front of the factory. Charlie pushed the telescope back down and watched out the window. The few scattered people were looking up, talking, having little conversations they looked very interested in. A few would point at the factory then lean over to the person next to them and say something.

Charlie sighed just as Wonka popped up from the file drawers, holding a rolled up paper in his hand with a magnificent grin of achievement.

"A_hah!_" he exclaimed, turning towards Charlie. "Got it." Charlie didn't turn around.

"Looks like they found me," he sighed quietly. Wonka's smile faded and was replaced with a curious frown. He crept up a few feet behind the little boy to look out the window. He cocked his head to the side, rather blankly, upon seeing the people, but after a minute turned back around and began to his desk.

"They can't get in," he assured. Charlie smiled.

"Well I know that," he said, turning around. Wonka kept facing his desk, shuffling through papers, and Charlie looked back out the window. After a moment of silence, Wonka spoke up again.

"And even if they could, you could just do the same thing you do with sharks." Charlie smiled faintly again and turned his head.

"So are people a lot like sharks?" Charlie asked.

"Most of 'em," Wonka confirmed quietly. Charlie's smile faded away, but he stayed watching the chocolatier's back.

" . . . What do you do with sharks then?" he asked after a moment, and Wonka suddenly twirled around.

"Ya _poke 'em in the eyes_!" he declared with a grin, ending at Charlie's eye level and poking the air in front of him with two fingers. Charlie leaned back and grinned.

"Does that really work?" he asked curiously. Wonka paused, then stood straight upright again, glancing up.

"I don't know," he said lightly, then turned back around to get the last of the papers. "But if I ever come face to face with a shark, I'll try it out and tell you if it works." Wonka picked up the blueprints for the boiler, and Charlie came away from the window as they reached the door.

"What if it doesn't?" Wonka straightened his hat with two graceful fingers before opening the door.

"I'll have the shark tell you."

* * *

". . . So if we know that 3 ¼ plus 9 ¼ is equal to 12 2/4, which we simplify to 12 ½ . . ."

_scratch scratch scratch . . ._

". . . We can say that 12 ½ is more than 3 ¼ and 9 ¼, because we added something to both these values to get 12 ½. So we put that statement using our value sign to say 12 ½ is more than 3 ¼ . . ."

_scratch scratch scratch . . ._

". . . and 12 ½ is more than 9 ¼. . ."

_scratch scratch scratch . . ._

". . . We could also switch the equations around to make the same statements . . ."

_scratch scratch scratch . . ._

". . . But making sure to switch thesigns in the middle as well, so not to say 3 ¼is more tha_n _12 ½. . ."

_scratch scratch scratch . . ._

". . . Which we know is a false statement . . ."

scratch scratch . . .

". . . Now, if we were not sure whether or not 3 ¼ was less than 12 ½, we could check it with a simple number line . . ."

scratch scratch scratch . . .

". . . Placing 3 ¼ right about here . . ."

scratch scratch scratch . . .

". . . And 12 ½ about here . . ."

scratch scratch scratch . . .

"Now being able to tell that 3 ¼ is closer to zero, we can confirm it is less than 12 ½ . . ."

scratch scratch scratch . . .

"Labeling the statement as true."

. . . scratch scratch.

Mr. Lawler dropped his chalk into the tray below and brushed off his hands as he turned around. "Any question?"

None of his class was watching the board. They were all turned in their seats, silent attention on a small boy in the back row, who sat at his desk quietly, taking notes. Mr. Lawler sighed silently, then banged his palm against his desk a couple of times. The class quickly turned back around in their chairs, and the teacher stood giving a blankly frustrated look, then glanced at the boy in the back (who was carefully looking up, now that it was safe to), probably having the same discrete thoughts as the rest of the children. Suddenly the bell rang, and as everyone packed up their books and grabbed their bags, Mr. Lawler vaguely called out the homework and dismissed them.

Charlie shuffled out of the school building along with the rest of the excited kids, and as they all ran their separate ways with their friends, mostly towards the candy shop, Charlie went down his own usual way to home. He adjusted the backpack strap on his shoulder and was on the sidewalk from the school, when he heard his name called from behind. He turned around and saw another boy running up to meet him.

". . . Hi Charlie . . ." the boy panted lightly when he reached him. After he caught a little breath, he shifted the weight of his backpack to his other shoulder, seeming hesitant. ". . . What's new?"

This was Taylor McAvery. Charlie knew him from most of his classes and had talked to him a few times before. He was a nice kid. He was a little pudgy, but not much, and had a ruffle of black hair that went well with brown eyes. Charlie began walking again.

"Nothing." The other boy waited a moment before following him, and looked down to the sidewalk, like was thinking of something to say.

Charlie knew that any other kid from school walking with him would have made him uneasy. Firstly knowing there was no way they walk with him all the way to his 'house', secondly because of all the stories that were being passed around on the subject lately, and he doubted Taylor was wondering about them any less than anyone else. But Taylor was a good, honest kid, not to mention a bit like Charlie, without any particular group of friends. Charlie didn't mind him.

"I 'eard your father got a promotion," Taylor said after a moment, looking up from the sidewalk. Charlie looked up as well.

"Where'd you hear about that?" he asked. Taylor pulled out a little cake from his bag and broke off a piece.

"My uncle works a' the toothpaste factory. He says he's seen your da' around," he said though a full mouth. "Whan's some?" He offered, holding the sweet up to Charlie. Charlie shook his head politely. Taylor shrugged and broke off another little piece as the two turned the corner ontoMaple Street. Taylor swallowed, then hesitated before putting another piece in his mouth. He casually picked at the top of it. "So . . . ya hear abou' the golden ticket winners for the tour of the chocolate factory back in February?" Charlie nodded. Taylor looked back down at his pie, taking another piece as he continued. "Like tha' world record gal ate some'in and turned blue." Charlie didn't look up.

"Yup."

"And the other girl fell into a giant garbage shute, and the boy was stretched real high . . ."

"And the other was sucked up a pipe," Charlie said, looking up. Taylor was still looking at his cake, finishing the last of it. He chewed for a moment.

" . . . What'd you hear about the last ticket winner?" he asked. Charlie hesitated a second.

". . . I heard they never knew who he was," he said. Taylor gave a slow chew and swallowed, looking slightly disappointed.

"That's wha' I heard." The two reached the center ofMaple street, and Taylor started across the street to his house on the corner. He turned around and waved.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, Charlie?" he called. Charlie nodded and waved back.

"Bye Taylor," he called, and watched Taylor scuttle up to his house, up the front steps and though the door. Charlie waited a moment, then turned and kept walking, down to the corner of Main Street, and up to his own home.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorry it took.

Red Squirrels in South Scotland Project: Oooooohhh noh. Not just a crazy. h t t p / w w w . r e d – s q u i r r e l s . o r g . u k /

"The door had two knobs, was the first thing Charlie noticed. . .": Mkay, I, like, wanna give myself a cookie. Kay, well, it just occurred to me, hey! Those poor Oompa Loompas can't reach the regular doorknobs! They need things like that to be their size! So I did that. But theeen . . . I found some pictures from behind the scenes, and whaddya know! They showed a picture in the Television Room, where there was a telephone, and on the telephone were _two_ receivers, one normal sized, and one loompa sized! How. Cool.

"Efexit": Yah, on the remote in Wonka's room? Well, firstly I thought of the buttons on the remote kinda like the buttons on the elevator, but secondly, Efexit is short for "Emergency Fire Exit." **:snigger: **Oh I know, I'm so cool.

"Oh don't worry about that, that's just Rita. . .": **:gleamy eyes:** WE HAVE A RIIITA! Aahahahahahahah . . . **:cough: **Okay, well, I dunno if you've heard of 'em, but there are these robot vacuum things called Roombas. (just go to h t t p / w w w . i r o b o t . c o m / if you wanna see 'em) And . . . my family being my family named ours Rita. So . . . yah, that's also on the remote. And, I seriously gave it a lot of thought, and I really think Wonka is the kind of person who would have one of these. Especially since I doubt they were very populous in that town.

I've been sick lately, so the next chapter should be up in a couple weeks or so. . .

(omg ps today i had off school and was sick but was dragged by my family for a tour of the white house which really only re-enforces myplans of becoming a terrorist when i grow up ((_im kidding_ please no one sue me)) and i was so bored i wanted to gouge my eyes out but tomorrow im staying home from school sick and ill be home alone for like four hours and o.m.g. CatCF mara-flippin-thon, baby)


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